


In a Land Apart

by epitome



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Minor canon divergence, Modern Girl in Thedas, Rating will change, Realities of Medieval Life, Slow Burn, tags will change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-04-29 07:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14467698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epitome/pseuds/epitome
Summary: When Lyndsey wakes up in an unfamiliar land straight out of some medieval fantasy setting, she's got a lot more adusting to do than just getting used to two moons instead of one.Lyndsey is forced to seek the aid of the Inquisition, who may be her best chance of somehow returning home. But with an ancient evil on the rise, she may have to shuffle her priorities.





	1. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to elvhenphoenix for beta reading this chapter and providing all sorts of insight that my writing has benefitted from.

Awareness crept to Lyndsey’s sleep-fogged mind slowly. Birdsong. The soft padding of footsteps on a wooden floor. Humming. A lullaby? Scratchy sheets, rough cloth against her cheek. The faint scent of woodsmoke. Glass clinking against glass. Vaguely she registered sunlight through her eyelids.

 _Too early,_ she thought blearily, trying to wiggle from her back onto her side to get more comfortable and jamming one arm under the flat, lumpy pillow her head was resting upon. Lyndsey rubbed at her eyes with the back of her other hand, a mild frown tugging her lips into a pout as she felt the crust that had accumulated at the corners. Was it just from sleeping or had she gotten pink-eye again? _Ugh, whatever. M’going back to sleep._ But it was like her mattress had turned to rock overnight - hard and unyielding on her side. With a dissatisfied noise, she squirmed onto her stomach, the coarse fabric of her pajamas tangling around her as the corner got pinned under her own body.

The continued wriggling knocked her foot against the bedframe, and she hissed at the pain, a sharp intake of breath released with a groan as she squeezed her eyes shut. _Ow! Guess I’m not going back to sleep after all._

There was a moment of silence and then she heard the footsteps again - a low, shuffling sound - moving somewhere behind her. That was enough to jar her from the haze of sleep and make her forget the pain in her leg. She lived alone. _Who the hell was in her apartment?_

Before even registering that she’d opened her eyes, Lyndsey was rolling onto her back so she could throw herself into a sitting position. Immediately she regretted the sudden, severe motion as her ribs protested and the blood rushed from her head, making her vision go dark and her head go dizzy.

She was not prepared for the scene that greeted her when her sight returned.

Lyndsey found herself in a rustic cabin with rough-hewn wooden walls that was a far cry from her bright, contemporary apartment in D.C. Jars and bottles filled with who knew what were organized neatly on shelves lining the walls, barrels helping prop them up, candles stacked haphazardly like that wasn’t some sort of fire hazard. The scent of smoke briefly intensified as a piece of firewood cracked loudly in the hearth on the far side of the room - which admittedly, wasn’t very far at all. A hearth with an honest-to-god _cauldron_ bubbling in it. Underlying the smoke she smelled something not unlike oatmeal, which was what must have been cooking. As Lyndsey flipped back the covers, the heat of the fire felt far more pleasant on her legs than the scratchy fabric had.

As her gaze swept to the left, she focused on a slender woman, her back to Lyndsey, standing at a crude desk. Undoubtedly she’d been the source of the footsteps. From this angle, Lyndsey couldn’t determine much of what she looked like aside from her straight blonde hair pulled back into a bun - the stranger was covered from neck to toe in a simple brown dress.

“Wh-where am I?” Lyndsey croaked, suddenly aware that her mouth felt mossy and her throat and lips were dry. “Who are you?”

“Ah, so it seems you’ve recovered enough to rejoin the land of the living,” the woman replied nonchalantly without turning, her attention still captured by whatever she was working on at the desk. Something about the way she talked sounded off - but Lyndsey couldn’t quite put her finger on what.

“With how delirious you were, I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You’re in Redcliffe, in the village. I’m the local healer.”

Redcliffe? Healer? Neither of those things meant anything to her. If she was hurt, she should be seeing a doctor, not some crazy woman in a hut with a _cauldron_ like she was some sort of _witch_ \- was this some whacked-out dream? She knew she should lay off the sugar before bed...but this felt different. Maybe she _was_ in the hospital, hopped up on some sort of drug. Didn’t some of the stronger painkillers have hallucinogenic effects? Or maybe she was in a coma, there’d been stories of people waking up having recollections of living completely different lives or visiting the heavens...

The woman finished whatever she was doing with a flourish and turned to face her patient. For the first time, her profile was in view, and Lyndsey froze in horror, fingers clenching the blanket so tight her knuckles paled.

“Y-you…you have... your _ears_...” she repeated dumbly.

The woman’s eyes narrowed in distaste, mouth curling as if she’d tasted something sour. “I knew it,” she said bitterly. “I told them nobody would be grateful to be healed by a knife-ear. You lot are all the same.” 

Alright, this was _definitely_ a dream. Pointy ears like that? That didn’t look like a chintzy costume piece from the Halloween store? An elf. Elves weren’t real. So she was dreaming of some fantasy world with elves. Or, she supposed, some sort of Hylian - she’d been looking up the new Zelda game recently, maybe that was what had spurred this sequence.

“No, I was just surprised, that’s all. We, ah, don’t have...elves,” she tried to hold back a hysterical noise, but failed. “Where I come from.”

The healer - _an elf,_ she giggled to herself again - shot her a flat look. “No, I suppose the closer you get to Orzammar, the fewer elves there are.”

“Orzammar?” The name was even more foreign than Redcliffe.

“Are you not from near there? You certainly sound like it. Never been that far north, but we do get a lot of visitors passing through the village for the Memorial.” The healer seemed to pause to consider her charge. “You’re no dwarf - but the tale of it says there are small villages tucked into the mountains near Orzammar that are so filled with new surface dwarves that everyone sounds like them.” 

 _Best to just play along,_ she decided, not sure how disagreeing would affect the rest of her dream. It was already off-course - she’d never had one this vivid before. Usually she was an uninvolved observer from above - or if the dream was about her, she never thought about what her body was doing, instead overtaken by some emotion or another. “Oh, uh, yeah. I was just...surprised that you could tell.”

The elven woman was seemingly not one to mince words; she merely shrugged, turning away to fuss with a pitcher at a table closer to the hearth. She returned a moment later with a tall ceramic cup, holding it out for Lyndsey to take. “Here. No doubt you’re parched.”

Lyndsey accepted the glass without protest - she _was_ thirsty - and downed it in a series of quick gulps. After setting the empty cup on the nightstand at her elbow, she cleared her throat to try to prevent herself from giggling again at the strange dream she was having. “In any case, thanks for taking me in and - uh - healing me.” Was she supposed to repay the healer in a dream? She didn’t have any money anyway. She bit her bottom lip as the corners of her mouth lifted up, resulting in a grin that looked rather pained. “I’ll get out of your way now.” 

Just as Lyndsey swung her legs over the side of the cot and began to stand, the healer rushed at her with arms outstretched. Pain seared from the base of her foot up through her right leg, and some part of her registered the healer chastising her for “aggravating her wound when she wasn’t half-healed yet.” Namely, though, her mind was racing over the fact that _you weren’t supposed to feel pain in dreams_. 

Which could only mean…

 _This isn’t a dream_ , she thought, face paling. A wave of nausea overtook her, and she scrabbled for the cup she’d abandoned not even a minute before. When her stomach roiled again, Lyndsey didn’t fight it, upending the contents in a series of heaves and trying to keep the tears that were prickling at the corners of her eyes from falling. Firm hands took the cup from her own shaking one and set it aside somewhere.

“It’s not a dream,” she whispered, falling back on the cot, eyes squeezing shut tight once again to try and tune everything around her out. “No, no, no, no, no. That can’t be true.” Lyndsey clamped her hands over her ears and tried to ignore both her surroundings and the sour remnants of bile in her mouth. “I’m just dreaming, I’m just dreaming…”

An arm slid between her neck and the cot and pulled, propping her up. Her skin crawled at the touch. Lyndsey writhed, trying to escape the arrest - _don’t touch me!_ \- but a claw clamped around her shoulders to hold her still. _It’s not real, it’s not real._ Warm glass was pressed to her lips as she opened her mouth to continue her chant, but before she could bat it away, foreign liquid bloomed bitter on her tongue. She coughed as she breathed some of it in, but was forced to swallow the rest lest she choke. 

Immediately her panic started to fade at the edges, and her hands slid from her ears. Her eyes opened again. The healer looked down at her with stubborn concern, holding an empty vial above Lyndsey’s mouth. As if from underwater she could hear the healer speaking, but the words made no sense. Lyndsey stared entranced as a red droplet ran down the side of the vial to pool at the bottom. 

“You drugged me,” she accused slowly, the anger in her expression so muted by the haziness that was overcoming her like storm clouds rolling in overhead that instead she just looked piteous. It wasn’t much longer before Lyndsey slipped into the oblivion of sleep.

 

* * *

 

Sleep didn’t cure all things, but whenever Lyndsey was having a hard time of it, she’d feel better after a rest. When she woke in the same place she’d fallen asleep, she was once again hit by a sense that things weren’t right, but the panic had backed off some, lurking behind a curtain. Another moment later, and she remembered why. This wasn’t home. This wasn’t even Earth, for all she knew. That didn’t stop her from squeezing her eyes shut and opening them a few times in sequence, hoping that when she’d open them she’d see the walls of her bedroom, or the little hole in her ceiling where the previous tenant must have hung something - but that effort proved to be in vain.

_Fuck._

Lyndsey pushed herself up into a sitting position more slowly than the last time to avoid all the blood rushing from her head too quickly. It was darker than before, the sunlight slanting in through the window on its last legs for the day. Dust motes danced in the air, heedless of Lyndsey’s discomfort. Then she noticed the quiet: the birdsong had faded, further heralding the approaching sunset, and the woman who’d tended to her earlier was absent. Besides that, the room was much as she last remembered it, though she didn’t recall how she’d fallen asleep. Another cup was placed at her bedside - hopefully not the same one she’d used earlier. Gingerly she took small sips from it, unsure what to do with herself but unwilling to risk putting weight on her leg again after it had gone so badly last time.

_Okay, Lynds. Freaking out’s not gonna help ya. Think. You ended up in the middle of another world like some sort of bad sci-fi plot, with no idea how you got here. What would...fuck, who would have been in this sort of situation...Oh! The Doctor. What would the Doctor do?_

“Okay, okay, um. First things first, assess the situation.” Lyndsey’s voice was shaky to her own ears, but something about speaking aloud was fortifying. She was still in the shift she’d woken up in before, but now she noticed that there were some bandages wrapping her arms, mostly around her elbows and forearms, and they stung a little if she pressed them. Her hands weren’t bandaged, but she could see parts of them were a tender pink in spots - the tell-tale sign of newly-grown skin. She couldn’t ruck up the shift she was wearing, since she was sitting on it, but it was sheer enough to see the dark indigo of a bruise underneath it, and she hissed in pain when she poked at her side. Nothing, however, seemed as bad as her leg had. And worst of all, she couldn’t remember what could have caused it all. “A little worse for wear than usual, but you’ll be alright, you’re not dying,” she grit out. “Just need to keep it together.”

She needed a plan. It didn’t matter where she’d gone or how she’d gotten here. She needed to get home. And to do that she needed to be well enough to walk. And clothes - where had hers gone? 

_Wait, maybe it does matter how I got here - if I can figure that out, I might be able to get home the same way. Could that lady know?_

She wasn’t left alone to wonder for long, for the door swung open and in came the elven woman carrying a bundle of goods. _Speak of the devil._

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said. “Gave me quite the fright, you did, trying to walk on that leg of yours before you were ready. You’re lucky you didn’t make it worse.” The healer pursed her lips in thought as she inspected her patient before nudging the door closed behind her with one foot.

Lyndsey swallowed past the hard lump in her throat, the “keep it together” part of her plan rapidly unravelling at the seams. “Please, I need to get home,” she pleaded. “My name is Lyndsey Turner. Can you tell me how I got here? What happened to me?”

The healer didn’t answer immediately, opting to set her bundle down on the desk before turning back to face Lyndsey. She fetched a plain wooden stool from underneath the desk and placed it at her bedside before sitting down to address her patient. A strand of her hair had fallen out of her bun, and Lyndsey watched as the elf tucked it behind her pointed ear. The healer noticed Lyndsey tracking the action, and though her mouth quirked to the side, she didn’t look upset as she had the first time her patient had stared at her long ears.

“Hush now,” she instructed, her voice firm, but not harsh. She had pointedly clasped her hands in her lap, as if to show Lyndsey that she was no one to fear. “The last time you worked yourself up, you were in hysterics. I had to give you a sleeping draft for fear you’d harm yourself.”

The memory was foggy, but Lyndsey could recall struggling, forced to choke something down that tasted awful. That’s right, she’d been drugged. The healer must have read something in her expression or saw that Lyndsey stiffened, for she added that as long as Lyndsey promised not to endanger herself, there would be no more sleeping draughts, and that as a healer the woman had pledged to _do no harm_. Lyndsey wasn’t sure if she could believe the elf, but it seemed she had no other choice for the time being. It wasn’t like she could run - or, it seemed, had anywhere to run _to_.

“I need to go home,” Lyndsey insisted, once again pulling back the blanket as if to get up. The healer gave her a stern, disapproving look.

“Oh no you don’t,” she leaned in, forefinger pointed at Lyndsey in admonition. “You’re not going anywhere anytime soon. Mages won’t leave that tavern they’ve taken over to heal you, so you’ve got to wait out the healing like anyone else.” When Lyndsey didn’t move to get up, the willowy elf relaxed, seemingly pleased that her warning was heeded. She crossed her arms, but it seemed more like a natural pose than as if she were closing herself off from her patient.

Lyndsey’s mind was reeling again as she tried to absorb this new information. She shouldn’t have been surprised to hear about mages when she was talking to an elf, but it was just starting to drive home how she was further from home than ever. This couldn’t be Earth. So where the hell was she?

The healer continued like she wasn’t just spouting nonsense. Lyndsey decided to consciously ignore that part, because she was dealing with enough right now. She wasn’t sure she could deal with more on top of that.

“Banged up some of your ribs, though that only looks like bad bruising. You also fractured a bone in your right leg. It probably won’t be healed for another…”

“Two months,” Lyndsey answered quietly. She was going to be stuck here for two months? She couldn’t be here for two months. She didn’t have two months to lose. But if she couldn’t even put weight on her leg without pain...

The healer looked at her critically. “Not the first time you’ve done this then, I see.” She stood and began unpacking the bundle she’d brought in, placing additional jars on her shelves and some sort of plant on a workbench at the foot of Lyndsey’s cot.

“But how did I get here? What happened?”

The blonde elf’s mouth drew into a tight line. “Something similar to the rest of the refugees, I expect. It’s not pretty; no wonder you’d been wishing it were a dream. Those rifts keep popping up full of demons, and before that it was the mages and Templars fighting, driving everyone from their homes. Redcliffe’s been the safest space around lately, as it’s got walls and soldiers to defend them. Well, until the Inquisition stabilized the Crossroads. They’ve been seeing everyone back to their homes as they clear more of the area.”

Not only did these responses not truly answer her questions - they also spawned additional ones. None of it meant anything to her, except for the fact that whatever this “Inquisition” was, it was probably her best bet at getting home.

“Okay then, tell me how to get to them.”

The woman finished unpacking and crossed to the hearth. She stirred whatever was in the cauldron, the contents sounding sticky as they were mixed. After tasting the food, she added a handful of something she pulled from a small sack on the mantle and stirred once more. Again the smell of cooked oats wafted through the room.

“I told you, I’ll not have my healing go to waste,” the healer said, frowning over her shoulder at Lyndsey before stepping away from the hearth, wiping her hands on the off-white apron she wore over her dress. “We’ll discuss this again when you’re well enough for the journey. Until then you need to rest.”

She felt the panic rising up again, clawing at her eyes, clutching her throat. “You can’t keep me here!”

Her protest was ignored as a small sack landed in her lap. ”Separate out the leaves and stems of the elfroot, and strip the roots off the spindleweed.”

Lyndsey stared at her with incredulity for a moment before her brows furrowed into a deep scowl. “W-what? You can’t honestly believe I’m going to stay here and - and,” she paused to inhale, short of breath, and found herself hurling the sack at the elf’s back before she could think better of it. It hit the other woman with a rustle, and a few plants spilled from the lip after it landed on the floor. “Work for you. I’m going home!” Her voice dropped to a piteous whine. “I want to go home.”

The elven woman spun on her heel and marched to Lyndsey’s bedside, eyes narrowed. Lyndsey tried to scramble backwards but didn’t get very far - the cot was tucked against a wall, barring any retreat. All she managed to do was irritate her wounds and make the painful discovery that the bruise on her chest did, in fact, extend past her side and onto her back. 

The blonde woman was not deterred by Lyndsey’s sudden backtracking - she took Lyndsey by the chin and kept a firm grip to ensure she couldn’t look away. The healer’s eyes, such a dark brown that they were nearly black, bore into her own. “Now you listen to me, _shem_ . The Inquisition’s done a lot to make it safer out there, but we are still in the middle of a _war zone_. It’s a miracle you made it all the way here from wherever you came from, and in all likelihood you. don’t. _have_. a home to return to. This isn’t some midnight waltz through the Fade. Your stubbornness will only get you killed. I’m the best bet you’ve got.” Concern marred her brow, but her thin jaw was clenched tight as if daring Lyndsey to challenge her authority.

Lyndsey deflated, her anger slipping through her fingertips. What if she really didn’t have a home to return to? She worked an office job - she couldn’t imagine what could have caused the array of injuries she bore. More tears rolled down her cheeks, and the healer’s gaze softened in response, as did her grip on Lyndsey’s chin. Now Lyndsey noticed the worry lines and the beginnings of tear troughs on the elf’s pale face. “Look, Inquisition scouts will be by to bring me to the Crossroads in three days. If you’re well enough to travel by then - and they have a cart to bring you in, you will _not_ be walking miles on that leg - and they agree, you can come along.” She paused, seeming to realize again how lost Lyndsey felt. “In the meantime, you’ll focus on getting better, and make yourself useful while you’re at it. Got it?”

Though the healer looked nothing like Lyndsey’s mom, there was something about her expression that was so _motherly_ that Lyndsey could only nod in acceptance. The healer stared at her for a moment longer, then made a noncommittal noise, seemingly satisfied with what she saw. The sack was retrieved and returned to her. Her face flushed slightly in shame when she recognized how childish throwing the sack had been, but she didn’t apologize.

She tipped the contents onto the blankets. That there were two different types of plants was clear; one was green and vine-like; the other was a ruddy brown color with a wax-like texture and looked almost like kelp. 

“Um… You said elfroot and some sort of weed, right?” She sniffed, wiped at her eyes with the back of one hand. “Which is which?”

Again the elven woman’s brow furrowed as she examined her patient. Lyndsey was starting to wonder if that was the only expression she made.

“You don’t know elfroot from spindleweed? I was so sure you hadn’t had head trauma, but the head’s a tricky thing; I could have missed something…”

Lyndsey didn’t like this scrutiny. Something told her to keep her background a secret - a feeling in her gut that she’d be labeled some sort of crazy person, and that _definitely_ wouldn’t help her get home. More like locked up ‘for her own good’. 

Nonetheless, she couldn’t stop the healer from performing another check-up. The elf pressed at either side of Lyndsey’s head at about eye level, slowly moving her fingers around the side until they met at the back of her head. Then she started to move back toward the front of Lyndsey’s face, pausing at the outer edges of her eyebrows. The pressure when the healer pushed there was unpleasant, and Lyndsey’s nose wrinkled in reaction. “You must’ve hit your head, you’ve got a bump on your left side here… but it’s a wonder you don’t have a black eye.”

“It doesn’t really hurt, so I’m sure it’ll be fine… Guess it messed with my memory, though,” she lied. Yes, she’d hit her head there a few years prior, resulting in a concussion - a nasty sports injury that had ballooned to the size of a softball and had indeed blackened her eye for over a week. The woman didn’t react for a moment; Lyndsey hoped she was convincing enough. 

“Well, alright,” she said, seeming to accept Lyndsey’s meager explanation. “We’ll just have to keep an eye on it. Perhaps you’ll remember with time - you seem to know a smidge of healing, since you knew about your leg. Elfroot’s the green one. The leaves are good for minor wounds, and you can chew the root for internal aches and pains. Spindleweed’s used in a tea that’s good for the lungs.”

“R-right,” Lyndsey said with a watery smile she hoped looked sincere. The bald look she received in reply made that unlikely. Her eyes - no doubt red from her tears - probably weren’t assisting in that regard. 

“Once you’re done you can put them into these jars,” the healer instructed, bringing over three large glass containers. The writing wasn’t any script Lyndsey recognized, more like what she would call runes than actual letters. But hadn’t they been speaking English the whole time? If not, how could they even understand each other? Lyndsey didn’t speak _Alien._

However, not wanting to bring further attention to her origins, she only nodded. “Okay.” Thankfully the jars weren’t empty, so she could match the contents instead of worrying about the words. She set to her task quickly, but her mind was elsewhere. 

She had no idea where this “Redcliffe” was. There were elves and mages and weird plants that were entirely unfamiliar. She couldn’t read the language, she couldn’t walk right, and she didn’t have any clothes.

Just how was she going to get home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my self-indulgent MGiT fanfic.
> 
> I hope you enjoy a slow burn, because it will be quite awhile before Lyndsey joins up with the Inquisition.
> 
> All feedback is welcome!


	2. The Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you princessbatteringram and theredshirtwholived for beta reading this chapter! I really appreciate your input helping me improve!

The rest of that first day was one of the most trying Lyndsey had experienced in a long time. After she’d separated the plants, she’d become aware of a pressing need to relieve her bladder and faced the unpleasant introduction to the outhouse - indoor plumbing, apparently, was a magic that was a mystery to this world.

Not only had she needed help getting there, but the small structure smelled _awful_ , and her head still ached dully from the tears she had shed earlier. Before hopping inside on one leg (and she cursed her ribs for aching with every jump), having refused to allow the healer to escort her inside, she’d taken a deep breath, plugging her nose and breathing through her mouth when she needed air again. Inside was a little bench with a hole in it, as well as some large weeds she didn’t recognize. Thankfully she’d only needed to pee, because she didn’t see anything to, well, wipe with. As it was, she felt gross trying to wiggle herself dry before pulling her undies back on (thank God she still had those).

Then came an embarrassing, lukewarm sponge bath. The healer, who had introduced herself as Anita earlier, hadn’t left the hut, and though their backs were turned to each other, Lyndsey was too self-conscious to make more than a cursory pass before quickly pulling the shift back on. On top of that, she had to work around the bandages lining her arms. She did the best she could with her greasy hair, but feared she didn’t make much headway. She’d at least been able to clandestinely scrub her undies with the tepid water in bucket after that, pulling them back on wet.

Lyndsey, who had always been a tad pessimistic, had to force herself to think of the positives of the situation. _People adapt. We’re made to adapt. You can adapt._

First, she was learning more about where she was: she’d gotten a glimpse of the village on the short trip to and from the outhouse earlier. She’d spotted more buildings, townsfolk about their business, and, perhaps a hundred yards below the hill the healer’s home sat upon, some boats docked in a wide lake. Everything looked...well, medieval - especially with the castle in the far distance. _Adapt, Lynds. Just figure it out long enough to make it home._

She’d also learned a little more about the herbs that Anita had set her to the task of separating, grinding them with pestle and mortar this time before depositing them into their proper containers. Thankfully she could match the color and scent of the contents with the herbs she was working with, because the script on the jars still eluded her.

She had enough to eat, even if the gruel that she’d been fed between her “bath” and her task of grinding herbs was bland, and since she’d already drank some of the water without getting the flux, she trusted it. She would need to do her best to stay fed and hydrated so that she could be well enough to accompany Anita to meet this “Inquisition.”

And, perhaps the greatest blessing, she had found her clothes tucked away in a corner after she’d finished the last jar of ground plants and Anita had ducked out to use the outhouse herself. Though they all looked considerably worse for wear than the last time she’d seen them, frayed and ripped in some places, and stained with some unrecognizable substance in others: jeans, a soft, overlarge grey t-shirt, her bra, and the slippers she wore around her apartment when it started to get chillier outside. Even her hair tie was there. She had left the rest of her clothes, but pulled her bra on and secured the elastic in its characteristic place on her right wrist. Immediately she’d felt more like herself.

Sadly, her attempt only lasted until early evening. The sun was perhaps thirty degrees from the horizon when she once again needed to use the facilities. The last time, she hadn’t taken the time to look _up_. The bit of sky she could see over the lake had looked normal enough.

This time, however, she’d put just the right amount of weight on just the right spot on her foot to cause a knife of pain to slice up her leg. She clutched Anita’s arm, _hard_ , and threw her head back, eyes squeezed shut, as she hissed in pain, hackles raised.

When the sensation faded, she reopened her eyes. But instead of clear eventide sky, she was met with the sight of a swirling green vortex, high over the mountain range far beyond Anita’s hut. Dark clouds wrapped around it like a cloak, and some sort of debris was moving within it. At this distance, it was about the size of her fist - which meant it had to be _massive._

At first she was so stunned she could hardly get words out. “What the actual fuck,” was soft when she murmured it. That seemed to open the floodgates, however, because soon she was shouting. “What the fuck?! What is that!”

Forgetting the pain in her leg, she shook Anita’s arm where it was still gripped by her own, using her free hand to stab a finger in the direction of the tear. “ _Why is there a fucking lime green_ _hole in the sky?!”_

Anita wrenched her arm from Lyndsey’s grip, leveling her with the same affronted look she’d earned when she’d thrown something at the healer earlier that day. She smoothed a hand over where Lyndsey had grabbed her too tightly to try and soothe her arm.

“What do you mean, _why’s there a hole in the sky?_ The Breach has been like that for months! It made all the rifts - it’s the whole reason _you_ ended up on my sorry doorstep. We’re just lucky the Herald and her Inquisition kept it from growing any bigger!”

Lyndsey was so startled by the admission that this was a sort of temporary normal instead of a cause of great alarm that she couldn’t stop the hysterical chuckle that erupted from her mouth. And the next thing she knew, laughter was bubbling out of her chest, her mind still reeling. By the time she sobered, Anita was looking at her with concern.

“Well then, I guess that’s that.” Her voice was cheerful, if a little too loud, and she had to clench her palms into fists to stop them from shaking, but she didn’t cry. Lyndsey finished her business and returned to the hut with Anita, pointedly not looking back up. It was childish to act like if she just ignored it, it would go away. But Lyndsey knew herself well enough to know she always sought control - and she couldn’t do anything about this... _Breach._

That it bothered her was an understatement. She hated not being in control of a situation, did her best to rectify that whenever she could - had even accidentally stepped on a few toes the first few times she’d tried to wrest control into her own hands. But this…this _wormhole?_ She was far out of her depth, and endlessly worrying about things beyond her control would destroy her. So for the time being, Lyndsey would just have to force herself to pretend it was fine. _Like that dog sitting at the table in the burning building._

She’d been fed more of the sticky gruel that she reasoned must be porridge as the dusk darkened into night. It tasted like ash in her mouth and was hard to choke down past the ever-present lump in her throat, but it was food, and it would keep her alive. Anita cleared Lyndsey’s bowl when she was done, then firmly wrapped Lyndsey’s leg in cloth as a sort of makeshift cast, since it was apparent she wouldn’t be able to stay off it entirely. Rather than lighting the candles strewn about the room, the healer bade Lyndsey rest, banked the fire, and settled into a bed tucked against the far wall.

Despite the mental exhaustion of the day, Lyndsey found herself unable to sleep. Her bedding was still rough and scratchy. The light creeping through the fabric of the thin curtains was a sickly green, and it was even brighter than it’d been when it had had to compete with the sun. It set her on edge, making her want to lash out at something - but that wasn’t a possibility, especially when she was sharing a room. With a stranger, no less. In some alien world with a fucking _hole in the sky_ leaking out _demons_ -

A faint snore from across the room broke not only her train of thought, but also her composure. Lyndsey once again allowed the tears she’d been harboring to fall, doing her best to hold her breath and muffle her sobs with her crude pillow to keep quiet. Somewhere in her grief, sleep claimed her once again.

The next two days were not unlike the first and passed with little fanfare. Anita would have her roll bandages or sort and grind more plants; she’d be fed more lackluster meals; her outhouse trips provided her with some reassurance that the hole indeed wasn’t growing, or descending upon them like the moon in _Majora’s Mask_. She snorted at the thought of the familiar message somehow appearing in front of her: _Dawn of the First Day - 72 Hours Remain_.

Lyndsey found she was quick to tire, even when only performing the few menial tasks Anita had decided she was well enough to complete. Not that they were easy - she needed frequent breaks to shake out her shoulders, hands, and wrists from the repetitive motion of the pestle and mortar. Still, her fatigue was odd for only having a stress fracture, some nasty scrapes, and bruising; but it wasn’t like she could argue with her body’s needs. Despite being physically tired, however, she had difficulty sleeping, even with the tea Anita gave her for the pain. Her eyes constantly felt puffy and an annoying throb plagued her forehead, no doubt from crying herself to sleep.

As the days passed, her lingering hope that this was all some convoluted dream began to fade. She could not have dreamt up the foul stench of the outhouse, and she was pretty sure her dreams wouldn’t feature her dismay at not having a way to get rid of the hair that was growing under her arms - her shift was sleeveless, so whenever she had to lift her arms so that Anita could re-dress the bandages, she had to grit her teeth in embarrassment. She also really, _really_ wanted to clean her teeth. Still, though, a part of her still held out - not the part that said this couldn’t be real, but the part that said she didn’t _want_ this to be real.

Mid-morning on the third day after she awoke for the first time in this strange world, there was a firm series of three knocks on the door. They’d received no visitors in the meantime, leaving her with little doubt who it might be; Lyndsey vaguely wondered if it had something to do with the “knife-ear” thing that Anita had mentioned before.

Two people who were clearly in some sort of armored green and brown uniform entered, explaining that they were to be Anita’s escort and were prepared to leave as soon as she was ready. A circular silver pin emblazoned with a stylized crest - a sword piercing an eye - gleamed on their breasts.

_The Inquisition._

“Please, take me with you,” Lyndsey begged, past caring how it might look. She felt tears once again spring unbidden to her eyes. “I need to get home, they’ll be looking for me.” She reached for her crutch, standing up carefully to avoid jostling her bad leg. _Save your tears for the big things, not the little,_ she chanted in her head, trying not to cry. It didn’t escape her that this wasn’t exactly something little.

One scout looked dubious at the obvious sight of her wrapped leg, glanced at the healer, then deferred to the other scout. Lyndsey knew the answer as soon as she saw the pitying look on the woman in command’s face.

“I’m afraid we can’t, miss. We’re low on supplies as it is, and you won’t make it on that leg. It’s two days’ trip on foot.”

“But you’re taking the healer! What am I supposed to do?” The words erupted from her without thought, and it was only after the fact that she realized she wasn’t doing herself any favors by proving she wasn’t fit nor able.

The junior scout seemed to have an idea, for he ushered his superior aside and spoke to her in hushed tones that Lyndsey couldn’t really make out. They seemed to come to some sort of agreement, for the senior scout turned back to her.

“Look. I’m sorry we can’t bring you with us, miss. But we’ll make you a deal, make sure you’re taken care of.”

She wanted to trust them, but this was starting to go down a path she wasn’t sure she liked. A line from The Godfather invaded her thoughts - _an offer she couldn’t refuse_ \- and she choked back the hysterical noise blooming in the back of her throat. She really needed to stop doing that.

“What kind of deal?”

“We need eyes here in Redcliffe. You report to us once a week, we’ll make sure you’ve food to eat and some supplies to treat your injuries. Once things are a little more stable, we’ll see you home.”

Lyndsey worried her lower lip between her teeth. She didn’t like the idea of spying on people - especially in a land where she was already alien enough - but it was an offer she couldn’t very well refuse, now could she? She needed to get home, and they were offering her a way to get there.

“Do we have a deal?” the scout prompted, sensing her hesitance.

“We do,” she agreed in a soft, high-pitched voice that sounded foreign to her own ears.

The scout smiled in response, but it was a calculated one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Very well. We’ll make arrangements for Revered Mother Eglantine to visit you with supplies.”

All too soon, the healer who had been her only companion for the past few days gathered those belongings she could carry with her.

“Here.” Anita pressed a sheaf of paper into her hands. “Instructions on how to treat your wounds. When you make it to the Crossroads, come see me. Until then, stay off your leg as much as you can.”

It surprised Lyndsey that she was so sad to see someone who was essentially a stranger leave. She could only nod in reply, finding it suddenly difficult to speak. This woman didn’t owe her anything, and yet Lyndsey couldn’t help but feel as if she were being abandoned.

They shut the door behind them as they left, and all at once, she felt completely and utterly alone.

She didn’t wait until night fell to cry this time.

 

* * *

 

Early the next morning, she was awoken by a knock at the door. A middle-aged woman in a nun-like habit introduced herself as Revered Mother Eglantine. Lyndsey stared at her in surprise as she made her way inside as if the open door were invitation enough. As the woman passed, Lyndsey caught a faint waft of sweet-smelling smoke that was somehow familiar.

Her visitor had brought bread, a few apples, and a sheet of some sort of jerky. Another satchel contained a set of herbs she was starting to recognize - more elfroot and spindleweed, and a few embrium blossoms.

“Oh, did they leave you with nothing but a shift? I knew you were a refugee, but since you were apprenticing with the healer, I’d’ve thought you had more... Hm. I’ll bring you some proper clothes tomorrow, child; I’m sure we’ll have _something_ tucked away that fits you.”

Lyndsey thanked Eglantine blankly, a bit miffed at being called a child even though this woman didn’t seem to mean anything by it, before turning to the real matter at hand. She’d managed to hide from Anita that she couldn’t read, but that meant that the healer hadn’t questioned leaving her written instructions. Lyndsey wasn’t sure if there was a difference between the plain elfroot leaves and the tea she bade Lyndsey drink for pain relief, and she wasn’t willing to take a risk with any of the other bottles Anita had left behind. What if she made it worse? She wouldn’t put it past herself to accidentally drink something poisonous.

“May I ask you a favor?” Her voice was hoarser than she remembered it being, and she paused to clear her throat. Her brain still felt all stuffy - but she was doing her best to deal with the task to which she’d set herself to ensure her survival. “I was given these instructions on what to use when my leg acts up, but I...can’t read them.” It was silly to feel some sense of shame at not being able to read when she perfectly well _could_ read, just not this language - but to admit to being illiterate still made her feel funny. All the same, there was something calming about this woman that bade Lyndsey to ask her for help. Belatedly, she remembered she was supposed to be the healer’s apprentice and should probably be able to treat herself without instructions. “She, uh, the healer here uses different treatment than at home, and I don’t want to get it wrong…” _The truth. If not a gross understatement._

Thankfully, the woman didn’t linger on Lyndsey’s inability to heal herself. “Blessed Andraste! A learned child is a blessing upon his parents and unto the Maker. How is it that they never taught you to read the Chant?” If the clothes and title hadn’t cemented Eglantine as some sort of religious figure, her words now did.

“They…didn’t,” she said dumbly. Taking a gamble to try and make her story more believable, she added, “We’re from around Orzammar, it never really came up.”

“The Chantry does have strong ties with Orzammar, but I must admit Dwarves revere their Paragons and their Stone far more than the Maker. Worry not, child, I shall bring you into the Maker’s grace.”

Oh. _Definitely_ a religious figure. Who was interested in converting her, and apparently, didn’t consider _asking_ about it first. There was also the Dwarf thing. With elves and mages, was it so strange for there to be _Dwarves_ , too?

“Umm…”

“It’ll be perfect,” she said, clasping her hands together. “You’ll learn to read, you’ll get some fresh air, meet some of your new neighbors - the scout said you were here to take over for the old healer, they’ll want to meet you, and it can’t be good for you to be cooped up in here all the time.” She eyed Lyndsey’s wrapped leg. “The walk to the Chantry isn’t far.” She paused, collecting herself. “Oh, but we’ll have to start tomorrow, I’d forgotten I need to bring you something to go over your shift.”

Lyndsey really wasn’t given much space to protest, and this was presenting the perfect opportunity to both learn to read and observe more about the town. If everyone went to this Chantry thing, she could watch them there, and she’d stick out like a sore thumb by not going. So before she knew it, she found herself agreeing. Another decision taken from her hands by the situation she found herself in.

Assent obtained, the nun read the instructions out to Lyndsey, who did her best to commit them to memory (one spoonful from the small jar on the desk steeped in hot water for two minutes made the pain-reliever tea; two spoonfuls of the elfroot in the tall jar mixed in a spoonful of oil made the ointment that went under her bandages). That taken care of, Eglantine bid her good day and Lyndsey was once again left on her own.

Lyndsey tucked into an apple immediately - it felt like ages since she’d last had fruit, and the familiar food made her feel a little better (and like she wasn’t going to die of scurvy). Well, at least she wouldn’t starve. She faced a new problem now: how was she supposed to make tea when she couldn’t even light a fire?

 

* * *

 

Once again she awoke to Eglantine’s insistent knock on the door. The sun was barely over the horizon, and Lyndsey was not quite fully awake when she bid her guest come in.

“I see you bathed,” the nun said after they’d exchanged greetings. Some small part of Lyndsey grew irritated at the statement, like it’d been a backhanded insult. “Good - a good first impression goes far.” Indeed, yesterday she had used the rest of the water that she found in the hut (thankfully it was lukewarm from sitting out all day, as she hadn’t a way to warm it), as well as a small block of soap that smelled faintly like embrium blossoms, to scrub her hair so it wasn’t as greasy. A quick hunt hadn’t revealed a comb - Anita must have taken it wither her - so she’d done her best with her fingers, thankful her hair wasn’t very long. She’d sponged off her body with a rag and the soapy water as well, then re-dressed in the same chemise that looked like it also needed a bath. She still smelled a little like smoke, but felt closer to human. She needed to find a river or some sort of well to re-supply, but her short trips to the outhouse hadn’t revealed one in her line of sight.

Eglantine had brought her another shift - this one with short sleeves; two shirts with cuffs that ended just past the turn of her elbow; and two dresses - one in sensible brown, the other in stern grey. Woollen socks and leather slippers not unlike flats were also included, as well as a belt to pull it all together, given that the clothes were all a little big on her. Thankfully a spare set of what looked like underthings were provided as well.

Not particularly fond of how scratchy they seemed, but still grateful for the new clothes, she turned her back to the nun - she was a little less self-conscious now that she had a bra on as well as her undies - and quickly dressed in the new shift, shirt, grey dress, and shoes and stockings, taking extra care with her bad leg. The nun rewarded her with breakfast when she was done dressing - Lyndsey scarfed the roll down quickly. She left the crutch - it hurt her back to lean on it more than it helped her try and keep weight off her leg - and the two of them slowly made their way through the town as the sun rose higher on the horizon.

Eglantine pointed out different buildings as they passed through the town, but all Lyndsey could think about was how much she missed Advil and her air cast. She did note the well they walked by, some fifty yards downhill from the healer’s hut, as well as some strange monument that was shaped like some sort of griffon. Few people were out and about, but those who were nodded their respect to the nun and continued with their business. Fog had rolled in over the lake, but the wet air didn’t completely stifle the scent of baking bread snaking from one of the homes they passed. They continued under a stone arch and through a small garden before stepping into a building that was undoubtedly a chapel. _A Chantry_ , she reminded herself.

The air outside had been cool and refreshing; inside, however, it was still and full of the heady, cloying scent of incense that flanked the Revered Mother. Instead of the rough wooden walls of Anita’s hut, this building was mostly smooth stone and plaster. An odd, reverent quiet hung in the air, like a church between masses. Innumerable candles lined near every surface. Ten long, plain wooden benches were on either side of an aisle that led to a dais, and where she would have put an altar, there was only a lectern. Along the walls were alcoves studded with windows of stained glass; the details were difficult to make out with the sun still as low as it was outside, but it wasn’t unlike what would have been the stations of the cross. Eglantine disappeared behind an unmarked door off to her right, so Lyndsey took the time to get a closer look at one of the golden dog statues near a pillar. Was this some sort of idol…? Lyndsey was gonna have a hard time keeping a straight face if she had to pretend she was interested in learning to worship a dog.

“Here,” Eglantine said as she returned, pressing a book into Lyndsey’s hands. She recognized some of the runes from the jars the healer kept, but really had no idea what it said.

“The New Cumberland Chant of Light,” Eglantine explained. “We have some time before morning service is to begin. Shall we begin your first lesson?”


	3. Meet the Neighbors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to princessbatteringram and theredshirtwholived for betaing this chapter!

****Not quite an hour into her lesson, Lyndsey’s brain had started to hurt. Rather than going straight into religious education, the nun - _Revered Mother_ , she recalled - had begun with letters. She would get to experience the joy of the Maker’s word firsthand, she was told, and then learn the details. Lyndsey didn’t mind - at least she’d be getting the practical knowledge first.

The alphabet did seem to be based on letters as she knew them rather than syllables, but there were more than 26 of these runic “letters” and they looked nothing like their Roman counterparts - or even the Greek letters she’d learned to use in formulas! Thankfully, she was spared from having to continue as a few people began to trickle in.

Eglantine stood and drew Lyndsey by the arm (gently, but not gently enough to avoid irritating the wounds under the bandages) to greet the newcomers and make introductions. She did her best to smile politely and try to remember their names as they embraced her in greeting, which was awkward and did well to remind her of her bruises. May, with her thick arms and round, red cheeks, was the town’s baker; Rochelle, who arrived with her young son, Phillip, was a fishmonger. They shared the same olive skin tone not terribly far from Lyndsey’s own, but Rochelle was reedy while Phillip still carried all his baby fat.

May held her hand while she and Rochelle peppered her with questions. Lyndsey fought the urge to tug herself away, unused to what she would consider intimate contact from strangers. Lyndsey didn’t have time to look for rescue from Eglantine, who had conveniently disappeared, as she was trying to keep her own story straight and her answers relatively noncommittal. In a small town like this, she bet there was all sorts of gossip going around - she’d be caught in a lie if she weren’t careful, and if they somehow figured out the truth...well, to put it mildly, it would be Bad.

Where was she from? Near Orzammar. Ah, no wonder she had that accent; what was it like to live so near the Dwarves? Not unlike here. How did she come to be apprenticed to the healer here? The healer took her in when she was hurt a few days ago, and she’d learned some at home. Was she married? She was certainly pretty enough. Oh no, she was way too young for that. Nonsense, Marie had just gotten married this past Summerday and was about her age! And look, little Phillip is enamoured with her, he won’t look away, isn’t that cute.

Indeed, the boy, who couldn’t have been more than three or four, stared up at her with wide brown eyes from where he stood half-tucked behind his mother’s leg. Lyndsey flashed a small smile at him. In return he buried his face in his mother’s skirts. May giggled at the boy’s shyness and his mother offered an indulgent smile as she ran her hand across his short, dark curls.

She was startled when a bell began to ring from somewhere overhead, and more people - perhaps twenty in number - made their way inside and settled onto the benches. May and Rochelle quickly ushered Lyndsey to a pew near the front, where Lyndsey had been sitting before and had left her book. Eglantine stepped up to the lectern just as the door creaked open again. Lyndsey snuck a look over her shoulder - five people in long, dark robes entered and quietly settled at the backmost pews.

“Best not to stare at the mages,” May whispered from Lyndsey’s right. “When Queen Anora and Arl Teagan agreed to offer them safety here, it wasn’t so bad. But now that that _Tevinter’s_ kicked almost everyone out of their homes, best to not invite trouble and leave them be.”

Lyndsey stole one last glance before turning back to face Eglantine. She didn’t have a chance to ask further questions before the Mother bid them all good morning and began her sermon with something called the “Threnodies 5.”

She saw now why it was called the Chant; the text in her book, though she couldn’t read it, had been laid out like poetry was back home, and it didn’t take long for the rest of those assembled to join in with Eglantine’s rote words. It was almost like the Apostle’s Creed back home, and just like then she felt awkward for not having the words memorized while being surrounded by those who did. Lyndsey couldn’t even follow along with the words before her, given the language was still very much a mystery. As she listened, however, she was relieved to figure out that the golden dog statue was just some sort of odd, tacky decor, not something to be worshipped.

Lyndsey did her best to follow along with the words being said, as they were not a prayer of request, but rather a story. It seemed to describe the creation of the world and everything in it, not unlike the one that she’d learned in Sunday School. This “Maker” had created the world, then a first set of beings that he was not entirely satisfied with; then humans. The firstborn became jealous of the humans and sought to corrupt them, and in turn, the Maker cast them down. What was different was the fact that these firstborn were not angels, but some sort of creature that turned into demons, and, of course, the addition of magic, which was apparently evil.

After a time the story looped back in on itself, and the cadence was calm and measured enough that Lyndsey’s mind tuned it out and began to wander. If magic was evil, why did the Maker give it to humans? How did any of this tie in with the stained glass on the wall behind Eglantine, which showed a woman at a pyre being burned like in the Salem Witch Trials?

She was pulled from her thoughts when the chanting drew to a stop. She wasn’t sure exactly how long the chanting had gone - more than an hour, certainly, but probably not two. Rather than moving into a homily as would have been done back home, Eglantine announced Lyndsey as the new healer, entreated them all to welcome her, reminded the assembled to walk in the light of the Maker’s will, and bid them good day before stepping into a door behind the dais “to take confession.”

A few people lined up to the door next to the one Eglantine had entered, and around her, May and Rochelle started to gather their things. By the time Lyndsey thought to look, the mages were gone.

Rochelle and her son left quickly. “Has to help her wife bring in the catch, and Phillip’s at that age where he gets antsy if he can’t run about,” May explained, ushering her to meet a few more people.

A tall, burly man called Sean, his thick eyebrows and full black beard a stark contrast to the gleam of his bald crown, introduced himself as the butcher and thankfully didn’t crowd close for a greeting. An older man with the same nose - perhaps his father? - only bobbed his head in greeting. A woman with close-cropped hair and rough hands was Clara; Donal had more grey in his hair than black, and based on others’ deference to him, he was acting in the mayor’s stead, the mayor having escorted his people elsewhere. _When whoever this “Tevinter” person was had kicked them out_ , she assumed. Lawrence and his wife, Joan, owned a small plot of land just up from the healer’s hut where Lyndsey was staying. He was a redhead, she a blonde, but both had blue eyes and a smattering of freckles. Their clothes looked a little nicer than the others she’d seen, but that was probably because they were dressed in soft blues and greens, not sturdy browns and stark whites.

After the whirlwind of introductions, Lyndsey prayed she wouldn’t be called upon to remember all these names later. Faces, she could generally recall; it was names she had trouble with. Maybe she’d be lucky and get away with not having to use them.

The blonde woman took Lyndsey’s hand - what was it with these people and _touching her_? “I don’t mean to imply you can’t take care of yourself, healer, but Andraste would weep if I didn’t offer you aid when you’re still recovering. We’ll have our Jimmy stop by to make sure you’ve got enough water and firewood; autumn’s coming, you know.”

Lyndsey hated feeling so dependent, and it was more than likely that they were offering just to be nice, not expecting her to take them up on it. And who or what was this Andraste? That was the second time she’d heard the name. Wasn’t their god called the Maker?

“Oh, I couldn’t,” she protested, even knowing full well she very well could and should. But usually these offers were lip service anyway - especially from strangers; there was no way they’d follow through.

“We must insist.” Lyndsey was pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong. “It will do Jimmy some good, too; he’s been so worried about his lost ram since it disappeared a few weeks ago. Won’t stop talking about how Lord Woolsley needs to come home. Helping you will take his mind off things.”

“Um, alright,” she said quietly. Pride wouldn’t keep her clean nor fed nor warm at night. And she really wanted that pain-reliever tea.

Lawrence smiled broadly, and Joan released Lyndsey's hands to clap her own softly in delight. “It’s settled then.” And with that, the couple left to join the line for confession, Lawrence wrapping his arm around his wife as she leaned into him.

May nodded at their retreating backs from her spot next to Lyndsey, patting her on the shoulder. Lyndsey winced as she felt the gentle touch on yet another bruise. “They’re a good family. We’ll make sure you’re taken care of. Healers are important in these parts, we want you to feel welcome.”

But then the other healer hadn’t gotten any visitors in the three days they’d spent together, had she? Odd. Anita had been terse, but not mean, and if her pain-relieving tea was anything to go by, her medicines were effective. Lyndsey filed that away to ask about later. The healer _had_ mentioned something about people refusing her care...

Soon after the introductions had finished, they left the Chantry, and Lyndsey was surprised that the sun was already well on its way to its zenith. The fresh air - something about it noticeably cleaner than the city air back home, though she’d never felt the air where she lived was dirty - was a welcome change from the heavy incense of the Chantry, even though Lyndsey had eventually stopped noticing the smell. She could see more people about than there had been this morning, but noticeably fewer than she would have expected given the town’s size. _Just how many people had Tevinter kicked out? And if this village is one of the safest places around, where did they go?_

On their way toward the center of the village, Lyndsey pulled a few sprigs of elfroot they passed, much to May’s amusement. “Never seen a healer who could walk past it,” she’d said. The baker escorted her as far as her home-slash-town-bakery, and then sent Lyndsey off the rest of the way with a small package wrapped in a cloth napkin.

Lyndsey deposited her goods in the hut, made a quick stop at the outhouse, and then settled on the healer’s bed (well, hers, now; she’d found the bed much more comfortable than the cot she’d originally been using, though it still didn’t compare to her own familiar mattress) with a relieved sigh. The pain in her leg had moved from an ache to a sharp burn by the end of her walk back to the hut from the Chantry. She should have taken the crutch, even though it caused its own aches and pains.

But she couldn’t afford to rest long. People thought she was a healer. They were going to come to her needing healing. And she didn’t know the first thing about it! What if someone really needed help and she didn’t know what to do? What if she gave them the wrong thing? Too little? Too much?

There were too many questions, and nobody she could ask for answers.

At the very least, she could try to familiarize herself with the materials she might need. Once again Lyndsey scavenged the cabin, managing to find two books, both with illustrations of plants inside. _Thank god the healer didn’t take everything with her,_ Lyndsey thought with a sigh of relief. She still couldn’t really read them, but they had pictures, and she moved to sit at the desk to flip through the pages. Elfroot and embrium were easiest to pick out, followed by spindleweed. Among others that caught her interest, there were a few flowers that looked like water lilies, some odd-looking mushrooms, upside-down trumpet flowers, and unfriendly-looking, spiky plants. As she looked at the illustrations, Lyndsey nibbled on pieces of the small loaf of pound cake she’d been gifted earlier and, when she found herself thirsty, wished she hadn’t used up the last of her water the day prior.

She was startled from her task by a firm series of knocks at the door. She left the book open on the desk and retrieved her crutch, moving to the door. What she wouldn’t give for a peephole…

“Who’s there?”

“Jimmy, mistress healer.” _Oh, right, the son._ She’d already forgotten about her promised helper. From behind the door, Lyndsey winced at the title. If only they knew that the extent of her “healing” skills was applying band-aids and figuring out at what point she was miserable enough take over-the-counter meds. At a babysitting course she’d taken over ten years ago, she’d learned the Heimlich and CPR, but she'd never had to use it and certainly wasn't in practice. She was far from a doctor, let alone in such a primitive environment as this with things she’d never even heard of before. A few days ago she'd have laughed at the prospect of using plants medicine - now it was all she had. _The universe sure likes its irony._

She swung open the door, blinking in surprise when she met Jimmy’s gaze and realized he only had one eye. She did her best not to stare at it or the scarring around the lid. Instead she averted her gaze to the stack of firewood in his arms. Rather than freshly chopped, the wood was grey and ashy.

“Oh, um, hi. Thank you for bringing that,” she said, leaning her weight on the door so she didn’t have to hunch over the crutch. “You can set it over by the fireplace.” He did so with merely a nod, mind seemingly caught up in other matters than this chore. Once the firewood was in its proper place, he brushed the dust from his hands and looked around the hut. Lyndsey, self-conscious around guests as ever, was glad she’d bothered to make the bed and keep her clothes in a neat pile out of sight.

“Buckets?”

“I’m sorry?” _Quit staring at his eye!_

“Buckets. For the water.”

“Oh! Oh. Yes, right here. It, uh, it goes in that barrel.”

He left with the buckets, returning with full ones around ten minutes later. Jimmy didn’t seem particularly muscular, but he had no trouble carrying the filled containers that Lyndsey had no doubt were heavy - water tended to weigh a lot. The young man repeated the errand twice more, until the barrel and one of the two buckets were both topped up.

“Anything else, mistress healer?” Jimmy brushed one hand through his white-blonde hair to scratch just above his ear as he awaited further orders.

“Could you, ah, would you mind lighting the fire?” she asked. “Crouching is difficult,” she lied. Well, didn’t entirely lie. Crouching _was_ difficult, but it wasn’t what was preventing her from starting a fire.

The young man morosely made his way back to the hearth, arranging a few pieces of firewood and kindling in a familiar teepee shape. He dug in a jar next to the stack of firewood that she had thought merely decorative, pulling out a wad of something tan that looked almost like a bird’s nest. Then he removed a rock, a piece of dark metal that looked like half a carabiner, and a small square of dark cloth from the mantelpiece. She moved closer to watch carefully as he pressed the cloth to the rock and struck the both firmly with the half-carabiner. It took a few strikes, but soon she saw an orange glow on the small black cloth. Then Jimmy pressed the cloth into the wad of tan material, which immediately burst into flame, causing Lyndsey to flinch. Coolly the one-eyed man placed the flaming bird’s nest under the kindling, and before she knew it, a small fire was glowing and crackling in the fireplace. The smokey scent that began to fill the air was subtly sweeter than it’d been before.

Lyndsey was still looking at Jimmy with her eyebrows raised when he had stood and brushed the dust from his pants. It had all gone so efficiently. He hadn’t had to rub two sticks together; in fact, the whole process hadn’t taken more than a minute. This middle ages thing was more advanced than she’d expected. If he seemed confused by her reaction, he didn’t say anything.

“Thank you,” she finally said. When she didn’t ask him for anything else, he nodded and headed for the door.

“Hey, uh…Jimmy?” She called out. He half-turned to face her, still seeming rather absent. “Sorry about your pet.”

“He’s very special. The Inquisition is looking for him now. I hope he returns soon, he brings my family luck.”

A lucky ram was far from the strangest thing she’d heard these past few days, and even people in her world could be superstitious. She decided not to dwell on it. “I’m sure he will,” she said, trying to be polite. Jimmy just nodded and made his way out. Lyndsey shut the door behind him, something about what he’d said making her angry. If this Inquisition really _was_ looking for his pet ram, couldn’t they find the time to help her get home?

With a sigh of defeat, she fetched the materials to brew herself the pain reliever. At least this she now had some degree of control over.


	4. Settling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you princessbatteringram and theredshirtwholived for the beta read!
> 
> And thank you, readers and commenters! I really appreciate the insight you've provided. I'm working on making the reasoning behind Lyndsey's choices believable (and more apparent to the reader) so that it doesn't seem forced by the plot.
> 
> We're about halfway to the point where she meets the Inquisition. I hope you stick with me!

****The next day Lyndsey woke up feeling…well, not numb, and not quite at peace, but in a strange sort of calm. It seemed she’d exhausted her tears for the time being.

Before dressing herself, she examined her leg. Worrying that she wouldn’t be able to rewrap the quasi-cast the healer had left her with, she left the cloth on. With gentle touches she pressed her fingers up her leg along the inside of her shin, noting where the pain grew most intense. _Ugh, it’s in just about the same spot I fractured it before. Good job, leg._

She also slowly peeled off the bandages lining her forearms, hissing when the cloth was pulled from a particularly sensitive area. None of it had scabbed over thanks to the moisture provided by the ointment, but some of the deeper scrapes looked like they had thin layers of skin starting to grow back. She patted them gently with a wet cloth, grimacing at the sting of contact. When none bled after being cleaned (though some of the deeper ones had let out some clear fluid), she decided to let them air out a little and merely reapplied the ointment that had been left for her. The bandage on her left upper arm she left alone - it still bled if she wasn’t careful about moving it, and she didn’t think she’d be able to re-tie the bandage given the weird angle and her lack of experience. What she wouldn’t give for a butterfly, neosporin, and some band-aids.

With nothing else in the hut to really keep her attention, she returned to the Chantry with the book Eglantine had entrusted to her, trying to keep her weight distributed so that it didn’t aggravate her leg. It was early, the birds only chirping softly as if they weren’t quite awake yet either. But some people were already out and about - in particular, Lyndsey noticed smoke rising from the chimney of the bakery as she walked by, and in the distance she saw a few boats leaving the docks, the sailors’ called-out instructions faint at this distance. She wrinkled her nose at the thought that she might have to start eating fish, if they couldn’t keep her supplied with jerky. Medieval times didn’t exactly have peanut butter or protein bars.

This time, instead of starting with letters, she was given an overview of the religion she learned was called Andrastianism.

Then came more lessons on literacy. Unlike the day before, the Revered Mother presented Lyndsey with slate and chalk. She had to cough to disguise the snicker that threatened to burst from her throat at the sight - it felt like something she’d read in _Little House on the Prairie._

Writing the letters out did make it a little easier to remember them, though. Common had 30 letters in its alphabet - the standard twenty-six she’d learned and a handful of digraphs like “ph” and “ch” - but matched English with 10 digits for numbers. Eglantine expressed surprise over her ability to replicate the letters confidently and accurately, for someone who couldn’t read, albeit the Revered Mother had to correct the order of her strokes on a handful of them. Lyndsey shrugged off the implied question, stating her familiarity came from drawing. In truth, her drafting lessons likely helped more, not counting the fact that she could indeed write - but there was no need to go into that.

A smaller service than the day before was held after the middle-aged Mother finished her lesson. This time Lyndsey sat alone. She’d wanted to duck out, but missed her chance. It might also look bad, and inadvertently causing a rift between herself and her neighbors (or the helpful Revered Mother) would not help her cause when she needed whatever help she could get. So she stayed. Interestingly enough, the verses of the Chant that were recited that day were beseeching rather than expository, and the service was short, perhaps half an hour.

Once again Eglantine, in her strange red hat, disappeared through a door behind the dais when it was over, leaving Lyndsey to gather her things and make her way back to the healer’s house. As was her usual when she was thinking, she kept her eyes on the path in front of her, mindful of where she stepped. Stepping stones and hard-packed dirt weren’t rough terrain, but they were a far cry from the evenly-paved asphalt and cement back home.

Of course, that only prevented her from tripping or stepping on something.

Her left shoulder slamming into solid resistance was more startling than it was painful, and the next thing she knew she was scrambling to catch her slate and chalk as they fell from her grip.

“ _Excuse me!_ ” A haughty, feminine voice cried, clearly not asking for forgiveness but rather expecting an apology. Lyndsey looked up from where her chalk had split into two pieces on the packed ground and rolled to the foot of someone’s boots - thankfully she’d managed to snatch her slate from the air. A dark-haired woman in a frumpy knee-length dress lined with fur glared down at her, hands on her hips.

Lyndsey slowly straightened from her crouch, offering what she hoped was an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I didn’t see you, I wasn’t-”

“Didn’t see me? _Didn’t see me?_ Don’t make me laugh. We all _know_ you watch us just as much as the Templars did, probably even more so since we aren’t locked up anymore.”

“-looking,” Lyndsey finished, her head jerking back just slightly at the unexpected verbal attack over a simple accident. “Look, I _said_ I was sorry,” she said, eyebrows furrowing.

“ _Well,_ look at _you_ , treating mages like _people_. What, are you expecting a reward or something?” the woman sneered down at her imposingly though she was only a few inches taller than Lyndsey.

Oh. It wasn’t a long, frumpy dress. It was a _robe_.

Realizing she’d stayed silent a beat too long, Lyndsey began to protest. “No, I-”

“I don’t want to hear it. You aren’t worth my time. We’re with Tevinter now - they understand the respect we deserve.” With a final disparaging look, the woman crushed the split chalk pieces under the heel of her boot and pushed past Lyndsey, shoulder-checking her on purpose this time.

For a moment Lyndsey was simply cowed. Then, before she could stop it from happening, she felt her face fall, tears welling up unbidden. Suddenly feeling as if every eye in the village were on her, Lyndsey ducked her head again so she could hide behind a curtain of hair and set off at an uncomfortably quick pace. When she arrived at the healer’s hut, she buried her face in a pillow, the calm from earlier in the morning gone.

Later, her nerves faded somewhat, enough for her to start to get annoyed and angry. _It was an accident, she didn’t have to get so rude about it._ She thought of something she could have said to stand her ground, but it was far too late for that comeback. _Ugh, and she broke my chalk!_

Lyndsey swiped her sleeve across her eyes - _ack, that still hurts_ \- and rubbed at her temples. It didn’t take long for her anger to turn inward. _Sitting around weeping isn’t getting you anywhere! You won’t be able to keep up this charade forever. You need to blend in, and you need people to trust you so that the Inquisition keeps you around._

That, at least, was actionable: now that she knew some letters, she could set about translating the books she’d found yesterday. And, eventually, perhaps learn to read the strange, runic letters. Immersion sped up learning, didn’t it?

She found a sheet of paper stacked neatly at the corner of the desk, and a wrapped stick of what looked like charcoal. Without further ado, Lyndsey set about writing down the letters she remembered from her lesson this morning. Some of the trickier ones were still on her slate for reference - thankfully that hadn’t broken, too.

Before long she had a crude letter conversion chart made - it didn’t cover everything, since she hadn’t been able to recall all 40 characters, but it was enough to get started, and she might be able to fill in the gaps as she went along. Lyndsey returned to the task she had set herself to yesterday with renewed purpose.

She managed to translate the title of the first book - _Ines Arancia's Botanical Compendium_ after about ten minutes with her chart, which was ten minutes too slow, in her opinion. Given the pictures inside she’d seen yesterday, the title made sense. The other, after she’d translated it, looked similarly helpful - _Restorative Draughts: Creation and Distillation._

Translating letter by letter was slow going, so Lyndsey decided to take the most efficient approach she could think of: she’d figure out a basic recipe first, and then if she didn’t understand one of the ingredients, she’d turn to the _Compendium_. Flipping through _Restorative Draughts_ until she found the first page that looked like an actual recipe, she began the painstaking process of turning it from gibberish into English. Every so often a spike of sharp pain would shoot up her leg, but she did her best to ignore it for a time. Eventually she had to brew more of the pain-reliever tea.

As she was nearing the end of the translation of a recipe for a Beginner’s Healing Draught, which, unsurprisingly, contained mostly elfroot, there was another knock at the door. She quickly tucked the translated page under the book, again obeying the unexplainable urge to hide anything that might identify her as foreign. After perhaps half a minute, during which she tried to wipe the charcoal dust off her hands, the knocking resumed. The knocks were perfectly spaced, she noticed this time, and insistent.

“Just a minute!” she called. She’d mostly only managed to smear the charcoal over her hands. _Well, no time to fix it now._

When she swung open the door, the first thing she noticed was that the large man standing before her was dressed in the same dark robe she’d seen the rude woman in earlier. The second thing she noticed was the giant sunburst tattoo - no, wait, was it a _brand?_ \- dominating his forehead, framed by his dark, bushy eyebrows.

Lyndsey let out a yelp of surprise and slammed the door shut in his face.

After ten seconds of silence (she counted, hoping he’d take the hint and go away), the knock came again, apparently unperturbed by her initial “greeting”.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she eventually asked - as gruffly as she could - through the door, since ignoring the strange man didn’t seem to be working.

“I am Clemence.” The reply was monotone, strangely calm for someone who was wild enough to permanently mark their forehead. “I am an alchemist. I have come to speak with the healer.” Lyndsey couldn’t help herself from thinking of the _other_ type of alchemist before she remembered it was probably a job more akin to an apothecary.

“It is preferable to speak without a barrier between us,” the voice continued when she took too long to respond once again. Against her better judgment - _man, too many things were against her better judgment nowadays_ \- she reopened the door and planted her feet firmly in the doorway.

“I’m the new healer. What do you want?” She challenged his gaze with her own, though something about his blue eyes was off-putting, like there was a missing spark. She couldn’t put her finger on what that spark might be. Perhaps it was because he didn’t seem to be even acknowledging her blatant provocation.

“I am an alchemist,” he repeated in the same measured tone. “I make potions that can be used to fortify and heal. I have been instructed to stock more, but I lack the materials. I am here to propose a trade: in exchange for your materials, I will supply restorative draughts for your patients.”

Lyndsey fought the urge to narrow her eyes at him, trying to guess his game. This man didn’t seem anything like the rude woman from before, though they wore the same uniform, down to the odd swirling pattern on the poncho-like drape hanging from his shoulders. Didn’t that mean they were working together? On the other hand, the sun-shaped marking on his forehead matched the one she’d seen on the Revered Mother’s robes. Could he be some sort of Chantry zealot instead?

She couldn’t ask that directly, so Lyndsey settled on a different line of questioning.

“What makes you think I can’t make them myself?”

“The Circle has texts on advanced potions that are far more powerful than the recipes available to most apothecaries. In addition, the slate you carried this morning is not unlike those used to teach children their letters. This suggests that your knowledge of medicines is through oral instruction and memory rather than written recipes.”

Heat rose on her face. This stranger was calling her out as illiterate and stupid without so much as a shift in his expression! And he’d seen the mess she’d gotten into this morning!

Lyndsey cleared her throat, trying to make the most out of the awkward situation. It didn’t even occur to her that her lack of argument was essentially proving his assumption correct.

“Fine - I’ll accept, _if_ you agree to teach me to make some.” Learning by doing would be much faster than trying to translate that entire book, if what he could make was even in that book. She’d just have to make sure she remembered the recipe properly.

Clemence paused to consider. “Very well,” he agreed.

Lyndsey invited him inside, pointedly keeping the door open, _just in case_. “I’m not sure what you’ll need, so you’ll have to take a look at the shelves yourself,” she pointed out the wall covered in shelves where Anita had stored the jars of ground herbs.

The day prior, she had tried identifying the herbs the healer had left behind. There hadn’t been much variety; mostly she was left with a few sets of small jars filled with the three plants she’d handled thus far. There had been a few other jars and vials full of ingredients that looked different than those three, but she hadn’t been able to read the labels at the time, and they were ground, so she didn’t have much luck comparing them against the illustrations in the book to identify them.

The robed alchemist took his time inspecting the shelves as Lyndsey looked on. She was able to stop fidgeting when Clemence continued to appear non-threatening. Maybe he’d gotten the marking when he was young, and it was now a stupid decision he regretted but had to live with. When he’d finished, he had four jars and two smaller vials in his possession. He listed what he’d taken so she could take note: Arbor Blessing, Prophet’s Laurel, Dawn Lotus, and Elfroot were in the jars; Crystal Grace and Black Lotus were in the vials.

She escorted him to the door, but before she could follow him to his workspace, Clemence explained that he would not begin until the following day, as he was awaiting a shipment of bottles to contain the potions they would be brewing. Lyndsey frowned, wondering if he would hold up his end of the bargain or was making excuses. Ultimately, however, there wasn’t anything she could do about it, so she took him at his word and said her goodbyes.

Lyndsey felt like she’d just sat back down to finish her translation - she’d have to translate the pages of the herbs Clemence had taken as well - when she was yet again interrupted. Had the knocks not been so different from before - quick where his had been slow and measured - she would have suspected that the alchemist had actually forgotten to retrieve something from the healer’s stores. Instead at the door was a woman dressed in a plain tunic and pants in various shades of off-white and brown. Freckles covered the bridge of her nose and her mousy brown hair was pulled into a long braid. The woman adjusted the basket on her arm and explained that she was looking for the healer, she needed some medicine.

With some reluctance, Lyndsey admitted the woman into her hut. Damnit, she wasn’t ready yet, she couldn’t even read! This was exactly what she’d been hoping to avoid!

A bright laugh spread through the room as Lyndsey shut the door behind her guest. “Maker, but don’t you look nervous,” the woman said, apparently unbothered by the fact that the person who’d be seeing to her ailments was not looking confident. Lyndsey flashed a strained smile as she pulled out a second stool from where it was resting in the corner for her guest before resuming her own seat.

“So… what can I help you with?” she asked, trying to recall her doctor’s typical bedside manner and operating rhythm.

Her patient smirked and shook her head. “Well, you’re making sure your story holds up, at least. _I’m_ actually here to help _you_.” At Lyndsey’s confused stare, she dug under the blanket covering the contents of her basket and produced a pin with the same crest she’d seen before - the sigil of the Inquisition. She relaxed for a moment before she realized - she didn’t have anything to report on. It hadn’t been a week yet! She’d barely met any mages and one of them had very clearly disliked her on sight. Lyndsey tried to explain, but the agent brushed her off.

“I was in the area, and the healer wanted to see how you were holding up after a few days,” the woman shrugged. Lyndsey couldn’t help but wonder if that was the whole truth - if the spies were worried she’d blow their cover or rat them out. Redcliffe seemed peaceful enough, but the intricacies of this world were alien to her. Anita had been clear that outside of the village - except for perhaps the Crossroads - danger was not just possible, but expected. She wasn’t even sure if she could trust this Inquisition - but if they could supposedly control the giant glowing Breach in the sky, maybe they could magic her home somehow. It was incredibly unlikely, but so was the fact that she woke up here. At the very least they would see her fed and boarded in exchange for information.

“As well as can be expected,” Lyndsey answered diplomatically. The agent seemed amused by her response as she unloaded the rest of the items from her basket: two apples of the same red variety Eglantine had brought her previously; a sheaf of herbs she was unfamiliar with but looked a little like wheat that would apparently comprise the majority of her patients’ visits; a few rolls of bandages that she hoped she’d never have to use on someone; a small pouch that jingled in the way only coins can; and a plain dagger with a blade slightly longer than her palm for emergencies.

The agent didn’t stay much longer after that, making her excuses after her errand was complete. Lyndsey tried to get more details as to what she was supposed to report on, but again she was only told to keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.

Lyndsey fought off a sigh. _Not that you know what’s ordinary when you wake up in a medieval fantasy world._

“Thank you, serah!” the agent bade her farewell as she headed for the gates, her now-empty basket still slung on her arm as if she were carrying medicine. Lyndsey finally realized that the woman had given her more help than she’d let on: it seemed gathering information - spying - was done by blending in rather than observing unseen.

Lyndsey could work with that.


	5. Chemistry Class (Settling In Part 2)

 

As before, Lyndsey’s day began with more lessons. Not being able to read - especially because there was so little else she could do - was immensely frustrating. Even when learning Spanish she’d been able to read the sounds, although she sometimes had to struggle to figure out what they meant. No, this was somewhere between that, where she’d only needed to learn the vocabulary, and when she’d tried (and failed, more than once) to teach herself Japanese, where she had to learn both a totally new syllabic “alphabet” and the vocabulary. Here the words were at least the same, once she could figure out what they were.

Sadly, that didn’t keep her aggravation from flaring up.

Eglantine was patient through it all, despite Lyndsey leaning back against the bench with a groan of defeat when she forgot a letter of this new alphabet for the third time in a row.

“No one learned to read in a day, child,” the Revered Mother attempted to console her. Lyndsey bit her tongue, afraid that if she started to vent, she’d let something slip. She began the alphabet song again.

This time, after the Chantry service ended, she didn’t immediately head home. If she was going to fit in here, she was going to have to do more than hide away in her hut (when had she started calling the hut “hers”, anyway?) and sit by herself each morning in the Chantry. She was going to have to be sociable. And in the process, she’d keep her eyes and ears open for information to feed the Inquisition agents.

The sun was warm on Lyndsey’s back as she carefully picked her way down to the docks, one of the parts of town she’d only seen from afar. Most of the boats were still out, little more than shapes in the distance, but at the closest dock an old wooden rowboat was resting in the water, and a brightly painted dory was moored at the far end about thirty yards away, a couple of crew unloading the day’s (smelly, ew) catch.

She was pleasantly surprised to see a small figure running back and forth down the dock, waving something around in his hand as his short curls bounced with energy. Phillip. _The boat must be his mother’s. Er, his other mother’s. What was the one I met’s name again? Rachel? No, that doesn’t sound quite right..._

“Are ya just gonna stand there and stare or are ya gonna go say hello?”

Lyndsey flinched, her right hand flying to hover above her heart. “Jesus!” she muttered, eyes squeezing shut tight as she willed her pulse to settle.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” a man who had appeared in the little structure on Lyndsey’s right she had assumed to be empty said, an apologetic but amused quirk to his lips. He was short and stout, with a large nose and thick blonde mustache. Pale blue lines crossed his face in some sort of geometric pattern around his eyes and down his bottom lip to his stubble-covered chin. What was it with the people here and their poor choices of tattoo locations?

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of his outfit - it seemed a strange mix of ordinary clothing and spiked armor, for what she took to be a walled, safe town.

“It’s fine,” Lyndsey waved him off.

Then it hit her. While most of the people she’d spoken with sounded vaguely British, this man’s words sounded almost...normal. _American_. What had Anita said about her? From near Orzammar. Where the dwarves were from. And here was a short, stout man with prominent facial hair, albeit not in the form of a long, grizzly beard.

_He’s a dwarf._

“Guess that answers that question, then.”

 _What question? Oh, he asked me if - damnit, I_ **_am_ ** _just staring like some sort of weirdo._

Embarrassed, she strode down the pier, not even saying goodbye to the dwarf as she left.

Rochelle’s wife, Helena, seemed nice enough, though preoccupied with helping her crewmate while Rochelle tallied the shipment and made sure Phillip didn’t run right off the dock and into the water. Lyndsey didn’t do much more than introduce herself before she made her excuses, not wanting to get in the way of their work. She was also pleased to distance herself from the scent of fish and low tide.

“And hello to you as well,” she said to the dwarf merchant as she passed him once more. His hearty roar of laughter followed her up the stone steps to a small overlook, leaving her ears burning.

“...think she’ll answer Alexius’s invitation?”

“If she has any sense, she’ll know it’s a trap.”

Lyndsey’s heart rate picked up and she felt her palms start to sweat. One of the two people standing atop the overlook was dressed in robes similar to those the woman she’d run into and Clemence had worn the day prior. A mage. Her mind raced with questions. A trap? For who? Who was ‘she’ and who was this Alexius person? And who was the person with this mage, not dressed in robes but instead in finely made blue garments?

Thankfully their backs were still mostly to her when she finished the short climb. She crouched to gather some conveniently sprouting elfroot in the hopes of hearing more, but the pair had gone quiet. When she looked up, they had half-turned to watch her. Lyndsey flashed what she hoped was a nonchalant smile as she stood, tucking the elfroot between her belt and dress.

“Hi.” Lyndsey brushed her hands clean on the apron of her dress. She guessed that they were about college age, had they been on Earth - younger than the mages she’d met yesterday, but older than Jimmy. The beginning of college, maybe - their faces looked young, their heads ever so slightly too small for their wide shoulders, like they’d just had growth spurts and hadn’t grown into themselves just yet.

“You’re the new healer,” said the brunette, the one in blue.

“Lyndsey. It’s nice to meet you,” she said with a nod before extending her hand to shake. For a moment he looked like he didn’t know what to do with it, but then he took her hand with his gloved one.

“Connor.” His grip was weaker than she’d expected, and he sounded almost timid.

“See, not everyone hates us,” joked his blonde companion, the one in the robes, whose name Lyndsey forgot mere moments after hearing it. Something with an ‘S’. His shake was firmer than Connor’s had been.

His comment earned a glare from Connor.

“Well, yes, we’ve only just met…” Lyndsey said slowly, glancing back and forth between the two of them. It clearly wasn’t the first time they’d discussed this.

“How can you see the destruction here - mages fighting at the Crossroads, a Tevinter magister taking over the arling,” Connor’s tone was agitated, but not accusatory, as he finally jerked his arm up to point to the sky, “and the Breach, and not think that mages are dangerous? That we need to be controlled?”

“You can’t blame the many for the actions of the few,” Lyndsey challenged, even though it was clear Connor hadn’t been talking to her. She stopped speaking as she realized that Connor’s blonde friend wasn’t going to stop talking over her, arguing that it wasn’t Connor’s fault.

Regardless of their protests, the brunette didn’t seem to be having any of it. Connor simply let out a hollow laugh.

“No, _that_ isn’t, but it’s not as if the people of Redcliffe don’t have a legitimate reason to hate me.”

“This again? Connor…”

“You don’t understand. How could you? You weren’t there.” He shook his head. “I’m going to find out if the Grand Enchanter has had any word.”

The blonde companion watched Connor’s retreating back for only a second before he, too, made his excuses. “I should go with him. I swear he’s usually more sociable, but then all this happened…” He punctuated the thought with a grimace, and gave Lyndsey a polite nod goodbye before half-jogging to catch up with Connor.

What she’d learned had left her with more questions than answers, but now she had more leads, including a vague understanding of where the mages were staying: Connor and his friend had headed towards the center of town, where she’d bumped into the angry woman.

Sometime soon she’d have to investigate.

 

* * *

 

By the time she’d let herself be seen at various other points in town, it was time for lunch. Lunch meant the last of the food she had on hand: a few bites of jerky and the second apple she’d been brought yesterday. The thought that that was the last of it made her anxious; Lyndsey was supposed to be kept supplied, but she had very little control over what they brought her.

_Oh, wait, they brought me money yesterday. Duh._

The butcher was kind to her and laughed - though not at her expense - when he realized she didn’t remember his name, not appearing to hold it against her. Lyndsey’s purchases - a couple more sheets of jerky and some sort of sausage - were wrapped up in brown paper tied shut with twine and exchanged for four of the silver pieces from her pouch.

It occurred to her then that she had no concept for the value of the coins relative to each other. If it matched up with any of the games she’d played, copper was less than silver was less than gold. But by how much depended on the game. _And if I ask about it that’s a surefire way to draw bad attention._

Sean directed her to the grocer, who she hadn’t met. Apples and potatoes went into the pockets of her apron, in trade for another silver piece.

 _I could pull a_ **_Martian_ ** _and just live on potatoes for the foreseeable future. They’re cheap. Meat is expensive, and if there’s an emergency I’ll need the money._

It might get old, but hey, it couldn’t be any worse than the dining hall food she’d endured for four years. And she could supplement it every so often as needed.

Plan made, she returned to her hut once again and set about brewing herself more pain-reliever tea before her leg could act up again.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps an hour later she’d dug out the wheatlike herb the Inquisition agent had delivered the day prior and matched its appearance to a picture in the botanical book. Lyndsey had translated its name - witherstalk - and was finishing up a translation of its uses. She’d started by trying to read it aloud and transcribe what she’d read, but quickly grew impatient and resorted to her simple letter conversion chart. That it was a disservice to improving her skill, she pushed out of her mind. Reading practice could come from a simpler book than an academic text.

Finished, she read back over what she’d decoded. 

> _Witherstalk is native to arid climates with sandy soil, such as that found in the western deserts of Orlais and the Anderfels. This plant has a long, thick stalk with a few flat leaves. At the top of the stalk, a head containing several bearded kernels is shielded by a tassel. Once planted, the kernels take four weeks to gestate. Mature witherstalk can be harvested in six to eight months._
> 
> _The stalk of the plant contains a slippery, viscous, transparent sap. Dried witherstalk is a common component in resistance tonics. Fresh witherstalk sap, once processed, is commonly used as a preventative. To harvest the sap, the stalk must be cut into shorter stems and the outer material peeled off with a knife. The sap has a consistency similar to jelly and must be ground for use in alchemy._

_A preventative._ Lyndsey snorted, amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth. _No wonder it’s the biggest reason people will be visiting._

Not that that didn’t leave her with more questions. Did men take it, or women? Did it stop an egg from being fertilized? Or being released? Or attaching once fertilized? Did people here even know what any of that _was_?

And, unfortunately, it also brought to her attention something she’d been to preoccupied with her new environment to realize.

_Shit. I don’t have my pills._

_Fucking painful periods ahoy. What do people even use here? Medieval times don’t exactly have tampons. Or pads that stick to your underwear so they don’t ball up and you have to waddle around._

_Goddamnit._

Even if this witherstalk did prevent ovulation, who knew what sort of weird side effects it might have? Couldn’t they just...magically prevent it or something? She’d read books where there were charms for this sort of thing. _Why couldn’t I have landed in Tortall instead?_

Lyndsey slammed the book shut with a groan, leaning to drape over the back of her chair to stare up at the ceiling with contempt.

Strange world, strange people, couldn’t read, her leg hurt, and once she got her period the rest of her would hurt too. But even sulking was boring. And it was only a matter of time, apparently, until she’d be expected to divvy out contraceptives.

With a long sigh she pulled herself back into a sitting position and slid the alchemy book out of the way. With any luck, if this was as common a medicine as she’d been led to believe, there’d be a recipe.

Before she was able to find one, a series of knocks came at the door, again measured and precise, firm but not demanding. The sight of Clemence greeted her again, that sun-shaped marking vibrant on his forehead.

“The shipment of bottles arrived this morning. My workstation is prepared and I am ready to begin crafting the healing potions.” He sounded bored. “Are you prepared for the lesson?”

“Uh - yes - just one second,” Lyndsey said, quickly grabbing the sheaf of witherstalk. He could probably walk her through that when they were done, and it would save her from hunting through the book. For now.

Closing the door behind her, she followed Clemence down the small hill upon which her hut stood and into the town. By now the chimney in the bakery was quiet, nothing more being cooked for the day. May was probably working on dough for the next morning so that it could proof overnight.

The rest of the town, however, was livelier than it had been during her jaunt earlier; a quick look to the lake indicated that the remaining ships had come in for the day; indeed, the people of Redcliffe were likely beginning their evening routines. The small bustle made it all the more apparent that people were giving them a wide berth, almost like they made way for Clemence.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but… everyone’s staring at us,” she murmured, loud enough so Clemence could hear but hopefully out of earshot of those skirting around them.

Clemence did not seem to notice her lowered volume, as his own speech remained unaffected. “Yes. Many people display signs of discomfort around Tranquil. Many years ago, I did as well. I do not recall why.”

Discomfort around peace and quiet? Had she heard him wrong?

“Sorry, around what?”

They arrived at a small shed attached to the side of what looked to be an inn, if “Gull and Lantern” matched up with her experience with how _World of Warcraft_ tended to named inns and taverns. It didn’t look sketchy, but a voice in the back of her head cried out that it wasn’t the safest idea to follow a stranger into a shed, especially without letting anyone know where she was going.

_Not that I have anyone to tell._

“Tranquil,” he repeated himself, unbothered, as he withdrew a key, opened the door, and entered before she had a chance to question him further.

The shed was larger than she expected when she walked in, the interior actually taking some space from the building it was attached to rather than being a stand-alone room. It was dim, only a bit of light creeping in through the small window on the right-hand wall, illuminating dust motes in the air. The area at the entrance stretching forward had a low ceiling only a couple feet higher than her head, but to the left the ceiling height grew to perhaps nine feet, and the floor was made of stone rather than wood. The low-ceilinged area in front of her was clearly used for storage; some crates, barrels, and hay bales took up most of the space; but the more finished area to the left had a few workbenches not unlike the one in her hut, one of which had neatly organized vials and jars upon its shelves. What was different, though, was the array of alchemical instruments spread over the table. Lyndsey recognized the graduated cylinders, both types of beakers, manometer, ice bath, and something that was basically a bunsen burner, but other devices were completely foreign. It looked a little silly, like a cartoon version of a lab.

In any case, it was more sophisticated than what she’d been expecting, which was more along the lines of some sort of cauldron like from the _Harry Potter_ movies.

“I must remind you to not touch anything unless asked,” Clemence droned on as he moved into the corner, “especially that with which you are unfamiliar. Some of the substances here are dangerous unless diluted or mixed with another material.”

Lyndsey had to fight off a roll of her eyes. He meant well, but she wasn’t an idiot or hyperactive child. She knew when to keep her hands to herself. Instead she only nodded her assent.

The man lit the lantern he’d retrieved from the corner and brought it to the table. The vials were already set out, waiting to be filled, and a few jars of herbs had been moved from the workbench to the instrument table.

He began by listing each of the ingredients needed - royal elfroot, which was purpler than its regular counterpart; dawn lotus; a variant of embrium; and dragonthorn. Indeed, there were different ingredients than in the simple potion she’d been translating.

“None of what we are working with today is harmful, save the dragonthorn, which acts as a concentrating agent, making the potion stronger,” he explained. “Of course, you’ll need to take care not to burn yourself.”

“As long as we’re not doing titration, I’m good,” Lyndsey joked, remembering how poorly that had gone in chem lab. She regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth - did they have titration here? What was she giving away? - but Clemence took it in stride. Apparently the term wasn’t unique to Earth after all.

“Titration will not be required for this potion.” He didn’t even so much as blink.

He took the next hour or so to lead her through the potion-making steps, Lyndsey doing her best to commit every step to memory. And there were quite a few steps - some things were heated; others boiled, then immediately plunged into an ice bath. She’d have to ask him to leave her a copy of the recipe, though without the equipment she saw here she doubted she’d be able to practice.

It went smoothly under Clemence’s guidance and soon ten potions were steeping in their vials, each containing perhaps four ounces of bright red medicinal-smelling liquid.

“What are these called, anyway?” she asked, realizing she had not been told much other than it being more powerful than the basic potion in her book.

“Advanced Restoration Potions. They heal quite a bit and are used when the patient has suffered a severe injury. They also restore a nominal amount of stamina and mana. Were we to imbue them with magic from the Creation school, they would become Superior Restoration Potions, which can stabilize a victim on the brink of death - long enough to receive proper care.”

Lyndsey pursed her lips. “Wouldn’t that be better to have on hand? If you’re out, I mean. Surely you can just decrease the dosage for injuries that aren’t as severe. Or we could make some of the basic healing potions I was reading about.”

“That would require lyrium, which is difficult to obtain now that the Circles have been disbanded. Alexius has promised to provide the mages with it now that they have pledged themselves to him, but it has not yet arrived. It would also require a mage.”

Lyndsey was sure that the confused expression that bloomed on her face was anything but polite. “What do you mean, ‘that would require a mage’? You’re a mage. Aren’t you?” She uncrossed her arms to gesture from his shoulder to his boots - at the mage robes he wore. “You’re dressed like the mages. You know how to brew potions. You know about magic.” Her arms retreated to their crossed position. “I’d say that would make you a mage.”

She expected him to look affronted or just as confused, but Clemence’s expression did not budge from the mask of boredom he had yet to remove. His voice did not betray any emotion, either.

“I am Tranquil.”

“I still don’t understand what you’re getting at - you’re peaceful, _so_? What does peace have to do with being a mage?”

“It is a name. Tranquil were once mages. We cut off our connection to the Fade; therefore, we no longer wield magic.”

Some of the puzzle pieces started to wiggle in the back of her mind. Lyndsey knew from her meager time in the Chantry - and it was driven home by the conversation with Connor earlier that morning - that magic was not viewed as a good thing by most people. She also knew a bit about the Fade - that it was where mages drew their power from and was where the Maker was purported to be before the deity had abandoned it. A sort of equivalent to Heaven. Clemence continued his monotone explanation, eyes glassy and void of feeling.

“The Rite of Tranquility also removes the possibility of possession by demons, as we do not return to the Fade when we slumber. They cannot reach us.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant about returning to the Fade, but not being possessed had to be good, didn’t it? “Wouldn’t that make you safer? Why would that make people uncomfortable? People were _actively avoiding you_ outside.”

“Many of those outside the Circles are weary of those who have had magic at any point, regardless of whether or not they retained the ability to use it. Those we knew before tend to not do well with the changes brought on by Tranquility, and most mages dislike the thought of their magic being taken from them. Magister Alexius, for example, has banished all Tranquil from Redcliffe. I have yet to comply as I have nowhere else to go. I would not survive on my own. So I remain.”

There was something just under the surface she wasn’t understanding. She didn’t know what it was yet, just a niggling feeling that something wasn’t quite right. That she wasn’t getting the whole story, not because Clemence was hiding something or being dishonest - but because she had yet to ask the right questions.

“How does that work? The Rite, I mean. How does it stop you from being possessed?”

“Demons may possess mages that are unable to control their passion, their fear, their anger. The brand prevents that at its source. I am no longer shackled by my emotions.”

Suddenly everything clicked into place like a key into a lock. Why Clemence was so calm it was like he was a mannequin (it suddenly occurred to her that she’d never seen him as much as fidget while waiting, but he wasn’t tense like a soldier at attention), yet had not a tattoo, but a _brand_ , _what in the actual fuck,_ emblazoned on his forehead.

She stared at it again. It was the same symbol as the one in the Chantry, she’d noted that the day before. But instead of marking him as some sort of religious fanatic, it meant that he’d undergone some sort of reverse lobotomy, where all that was left was the reasoning center. Lyndsey’s blood ran cold.

“Wha - _why_ would you _do that_ to yourself?” There had been times when Lyndsey had been so upset she had wished she could just become a robot; other times when someone had frustrated her so much that she had to willingly force herself to not care; but never had casting away her emotions been more than a thought in the heat of the moment. She had never truly entertained the idea - especially because it wasn’t possible.

The fact that not everyone was either Tranquil or wreaking demonic havoc had to mean that possession was outside the norm. “What was so bad that _this_ was your only option?”

If anything were to draw out a strong emotion, it would be that. But there was no change in inflection in Clemence’s response, no passion or fury or despair flickered in his eyes.

“I was outspoken in my criticisms of the Circles. There was a fear I had too much influence over the younger mages and may sway them to rebel. The Knight-Commander deemed me too dangerous to be allowed to keep my magic and called for the Rite.”

Lyndsey shivered. “They did this to you _as a punishment?_ For _talking?_ ”

The way Clemence had spoken of it before, it sounded more like something people had chosen to do to themselves. That was horrible enough. But for it to be used as a punishment? To knowingly choose to steal something so important from another person? She swallowed hard, an ache forming in her fingers and forearms that was entirely psychosomatic. They pressed a burning iron to his forehead and watched it sear his flesh, tore away a part of him, for daring to criticize the way of things. No right of free speech here.

“It is not unheard of, especially in more recent times when tensions have run high. Templars are especially mindful of those mages who can resist physically as well as have the potential to plant ideas in the minds of others. Their duty is to remove the perceived threat to the order of the Circle.” Indeed, Clemence’s stature and musculature were impressive to say the least, more along the lines of what she’d expect from a soldier or blacksmith. Connor, his friend, and the woman she’d run into were all slender and unimposing (not counting the woman’s fiery personality).

“It is no matter,” Clemence continued when Lyndsey did not respond. “I find this state agreeable.”

He was comforting her, she realized. He could have left off without saying that he did not find a problem with his Tranquility. The sheer irony of it was palpable. Her hands clenched and flexed to try and relieve some of the ache she was still imagining. Did he even have an option besides finding his state agreeable?

“You are troubled by what I have told you.”

“I just - I -” Lyndsey faltered, scrambling for the right words. When they didn’t come immediately, she sighed, carding her right hand through her (still greasy) hair as she tried to figure out the proper way to phrase what she wanted to say.

“I’m not upset by _you_ ,” she metered out, hand falling back to her side. It was true enough; though at first she’d found his robotic nature off-putting, had felt that something was not quite right, she was not uncomfortable speaking and working with him. She realized she was speaking more loudly than she’d intended and pointedly used her inside voice as she continued.

“But I’m horrified that they did this to you. That other people helped, or let it happen.”

“What has passed is past. I am at peace with it. Your concern is noted. Thank you. Now, I see you have brought witherstalk. I assume you wish to distill its sap for contraceptive purposes.”

His change of subject was abrupt, making it clear that the topic was no longer up for discussion. Lyndsey found herself dissatisfied and frustrated with the lack of closure, but perhaps she was making it too much about her own reaction, when she had not been the one to undergo the Rite - would never be a candidate, even. She didn’t press the topic, instead shaking her head as if it would clear her mind. Returning to the materials workbench, she picked up the sheaf of witherstalk and turned to face Clemence once more.

“Yes, how’d you..?”

“It is the only logical explanation. You are the village healer, and it is a common request. Additionally, it is apparent that you have had little formal training, which rules out most other potions and poisons.”

“Poison?” Despite the fact that she’d handled the herbs bare-handed thus far without issue, she dropped the bundle on the table as if it were a bunch of hot coals.

“Not in this state. These buds,” Clemence indicated the indigo pods at the heads of the stalks, “contain seeds that are used in some poisonous compounds that can be applied to weapons or added to Tempests’ mixtures, particularly to cause paralysis. It takes many seeds, however, and in this form they are harmless.”

“Like -” _cyanide in apple seeds._ Lyndsey quickly clamped her mouth shut before she said something stupid. It was instinct for her to try and draw parallels to things she already knew when she was learning something new, but she’d nearly given herself away as _other_ again. “Nevermind. I get what you mean. I’ve read about how to harvest the sap. How do I turn it into something useful?”

 


	6. Cabin Fever (Settling In Part 3)

“Soooooo... how much of this do you take to fix a broken bone? A minor fracture,” Lyndsey asked as she and Clemence approached the table where the Advanced Restoration Potions were nearly done steeping. They’d finished preparing the witherstalk sap and cleaning the instruments they’d dirtied in the process. The discussion of his Tranquility had flustered her so much she’d forgotten to ask earlier, but now that she’d calmed somewhat, the question bubbled back up.

“You are mistaken. Restoration potions do not mend bones.”

“What do you mean,” - she’d been saying that an awful lot to him - “‘they don’t mend bones’? They’re healing potions!” _You take one and your hurts go **poof!**_

“It is as I said. Restoration potions heal, but proper care is still needed. Potions do not mend. If a warrior has sustained a wound, the potion stabilizes his condition, prevents him from bleeding out for a short period of time, and provides pain relief, but it does not close the wound.” Clemence blinked at her unfalteringly. “Your leg must heal on its own.”

_Guess I’m not nearly as subtle as I thought._

“Well that just sucks,” Lyndsey grumbled. As if in agreement, her leg started to ache again.

Clemence sent her home with two of the restoration potions and all but one small vial of the prepared sap, along with direction of how much to dose people with should they require it. The witherstalk sap, which had a syrup-like consistency and smelled vaguely woody, was indeed to be taken daily by women who did not wish to conceive. The rest of her questions about the substance remained unasked and unanswered.

Twilight had given way to night during their preparations. It was too dark in the hut to put away everything properly, but in the dim lighting she could at least settle them on the workbench and make sure they weren’t apt to move. The last thing she needed was for all of them to roll off the table in the middle of the night.

She drifted off to sleep pondering the pros and cons of taking some of the healing potion, despite Clemence’s advice to the contrary.

As the days passed. Lyndsey slowly settled into a routine.

In the morning, she’d wash her face, run the wooden comb she’d purchased through her hair, and brush her teeth with her finger and some baking soda she’d acquired from May’s stores. After dressing and making a quick trip to the outhouse, she’d grab a quick bite to eat, then resume her reading lessons, followed by Chantry services. She was able to recognize simple common words in the written Chant now: the, a, pronouns, Maker, Andraste (the name of the burning woman she’d seen, who was apparently not a witch at all), and she’d gotten better at sounding out words. She even knew all the letters of the alphabet and digits in the number line. _Congratulations, you’re partway through Kindergarten. Ugh._

Midmorning meant patients. Lyndsey thanked her lucky stars that no one sought her out for anything more complicated than a cough, mild gastrointestinal pain, small aches, or birth control. These mild maladies were predictable enough that she felt safe prescribing things to treat their symptoms. In-between patients (she really didn’t have that many) she recreated the ointment the real healer had left behind. The scrapes on her arms had scabbed over, but thankfully had yet to start itching. One morning she also removed the bandages on her upper left arm - even though she couldn’t re-tie them, the bandages were dirty by now, and she was not about to invite infection or blood poisoning. The ones on the leg she left - while they were starting to grey, she didn’t have any open wounds to worry about festering, and they didn’t smell. Best to leave them be.

She’d take a break at midday, trying to exercise a bit with a walk through town without putting undue strain on her leg. She still had to step tenderly, more like dragging her bad leg and quickly pivoting on it so she could take a full step with her good leg without putting her weight on the bad one for too long.

After discovering the tavern, she abandoned her original plan of trying to subside solely on apples and jerky in favor of taking her meals, aside from breakfast, there instead. She didn’t always like the gamey meat, but potatoes, carrots, and cabbage were impossible to get wrong, even if they made for a boring meal. She did her best to pick around the mushrooms. While she could feel all sets of eyes on her from the mages who tended to lounge there, no comments were made at her expense. And after her first two meals, the proprietor would not take her coin; he said that it was taken care of. Perhaps the Revered Mother had spoken to him on her behalf? He hadn’t approached her for any medical needs, but Lyndsey promised herself she would make a point to return the favor when the opportunity presented itself.

After she’d eaten, she would often stop by the small attached workshop to visit Clemence and learn more about how medicines were made here. It was quicker than trying to read the textbooks, and the hands-on experience was invaluable. They did not speak of his Tranquility. Though apparently he wouldn’t - couldn’t - be upset by her asking, Lyndsey felt it was not her place to intrude further.

Her second Inquisition visit - and first official report - came and went, again with another unassuming person bearing a hidden sword-and-eye pin pretending to be a patient. Lyndsey reported what she’d overheard from the mages about an invitation being a trap. She expected some sort of reaction from the scout at her reveal, but other than the glint in his eyes, he was about as expressive as Clemence. He didn’t stay long or ask many questions, so perhaps he hadn’t expected her to learn much in only a week. As long as they didn’t decide she was useless or was a loose end they needed to eliminate, it didn’t matter.

Jimmy would stop by every few days, filling her water barrel and stacking more firewood by the hearth. He had no news on the progress on the hunt for his ram but remained hopeful.

Afternoons tended to vary, but were rarely interrupted by prospective patients - they had jobs of their own to do, and the population really wasn’t so large anyway. If she’d walked too much in the morning, Lyndsey would brew tea to dull the pain that inevitably splintered up her shin and try to keep off it for the rest of the day, propping it up on the extra stool. Sometimes she’d practice reading, or translate a new potion recipe from her book. Other times she would try and wash her clothes - well, the shift and socks and underclothes, since those were what actually touched her body, and in the relatively cool weather she didn’t sweat much - in a bucket with some soap she’d purchased at the general store. Once she even tried shaving her underarms with the dagger she’d been given, just to try and feel some semblance of normalcy, but it wasn’t very effective. When she stayed out and about, she would mill around the docks or the central square, letting herself see and be seen, making small talk here and there when she could, trying to further establish herself as a true resident.

Dusks meant another meal at the tavern followed by a short walk home before it went full dark. In the eventide the light was eerie, the last ochre rays of the sun mixing with the neon green of the Breach. During the day she could ignore it well enough, but at night it was practically a beacon, strong enough to dimly illuminate the hut through her curtains as she took a primitive bath in a bucket and changed her shift and underthings before climbing into bed.

It was next to impossible to keep herself distracted like she did during the day when limited to candle- or moonlight. Lyndsey had always been somewhat of a night owl, but tossing and turning in her bed, trying not to jar her still-sensitive leg, frustrated her to no end.

She shouldn’t feel lonely. Alien, of course, and homesick and scared - those made sense. But lonely? It wasn’t like she didn’t live alone back home, with her family states away. Lyndsey generally kept to herself outside of work, and she’d been fine with the life she’d established. Her thrice weekly runs around one of the local parks were solo. Occasionally she would venture out for a fancy espresso drink or an afternoon trip to one of the Smithsonians, where she was one in a sea of visitors.

But despite with her new routine, she found herself struggling to make any connections with others, even sweet-hearted May who would always take time to chat and inquire after Lyndsey’s well-being, or dry-humored Sister Tanner who stepped in with her reading lessons when the Revered Mother had other business to attend to before services. Even young Phillip stopped hiding away when she made niceties with his mothers, though he still hadn’t mustered up the courage to speak to her. No, the people of Redcliffe were not causing her loneliness; the sheer _foreignness_ of this world did, along with the fact that she _couldn’t talk to anyone about it._ How could she make friends when she was not only lying about who she was, but also keeping tabs on them all?

_Ugh. I’m a shitty spy._

 

* * *

 

One afternoon, Lyndsey had just returned from meeting with Clemence when she heard a noise that sounded like _marching_ pound up her steps. She paused from unpacking her basket - they’d finally finished a balm that was used to prevent and soothe burns that had taken a few days to complete - to warily answer the heavy, demanding knock that followed. It was oddly threatening - she half expected someone to call out “Open up, it’s the police!” like on TV.

An unfamiliar man entered without invitation, flanked by a set of intimidating figures that had to be guards based on the way they about-faced on either side of her doorway. Lyndsey stared at them with reproach, too offended by the wordless intrusion to think to school her features at first.

The men’s outfits were completely different from those she’d seen in the village, even the strange mage robes. Steel masks covered their faces, flat antler-like flanges extending from the tops.

The man in charge - and he was clearly in charge - looked aged, but not elderly; perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties, based on his deep-set eyes and facial wrinkles. Red cloth and leather cut into spikey triangles formed a jacket with wide shoulder pads that matched those of his bodyguards in design but not in color. The jacket’s hood covered buzz-cut brown hair a few shades darker than the man’s light brown skin. A mustard cloth with red patterns that reminded her of stylized dragons wrapped around the bottom of his torso before meeting a variety of thick and thin brown leather belts that matched his boots and gauntlets. Strategically placed chainmail, metal plates, and spikes formed armor that looked like it could be used to both defend and attack. Why was he wearing that, and surrounded by bodyguards, in a peaceful village?

He surveyed the space, hands locked behind his back as if he were taking a leisurely stroll. He seemed completely at home walking right into her space. She, however, was anything but. When Lyndsey finally opened her mouth to question him, he spoke before she had the chance to get any words out.

“Tell me, the man you saw this morning...what were you treating him for?”

She grit her teeth and leveled a dead stare at the back of his head. _First he barges in, now he’s interrogating me? Without even looking me in the eye? Who does this guy think he is?_

“I can’t tell you that, that’s a HIPPA* violation.” Even as her brain was telling her it was a bad idea, her words came out haughty.

“I’m afraid I’m… unfamiliar with your terminology.” He turned to face her, eyebrows raised. If he was offended by her tone, he didn’t show it.

_Shit, they don’t have that here._

“It’s, uh, an acronym for the, uh, Health Information...Privacy...Protection Act*. It’s an… honor code! What patients come to see me for is their own business. I can’t just go around telling people everyone’s private medical information.”

For a moment she feared he’d question her, but he seemed to accept the explanation. Or he didn’t really care to begin with, for he jumped right to the next question.

“You are the healer learning from that… _Tranquil_ , are you not?”

The hairs on the back of Lyndsey’s neck prickled when he tiptoed around the word as if it were an insult. The cadence of speech made it clear that the words were carefully chosen. And it was now apparent that she was being watched just as she was watching those who lived here.

“I am a healer and learning more advanced alchemy from him, yes,” Lyndsey replied, unsure of where this conversation was going but determined to not give away her lack of experience.

“I require your services in Redcliffe Castle. My son is unwell and I fear the strain of traveling here may be too much for him. He will require regular visits as well as additional assistance when called upon.”

Oh. Oh no. Ohhhhh, no. Someone was really sick, like, _really sick_ , and now she was being asked to treat him. _Shit._

“The tools and materials you need will be provided, and you will, of course, be compensated,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to Lyndsey’s reluctance, or perhaps interpreting it as her trying to muster up the courage to ask the questions he was answering.

“Well you see, I’m - I’m very busy and don’t have the bandwidth for new patients --”

“Is that so?” The man’s lips curved upward ever so slightly, but his eyes were narrowed. “That’s strange. I seem to recall you having only two patients over the past three days.”

Her heart started thundering in her chest. Shit, how closely had he been watching her?

This charade was going to crumble just as it was beginning if she continued to refuse. Hell, it probably would regardless, if this illness was as serious as it sounded.

“I - I guess I can make time,” she answered with a false smile, sure it wasn’t meeting her eyes. “When do I start?”

 

* * *

 

“ _Please_ tell me that that wasn’t that Tevinter everyone saw leaving your place this afternoon.”

The only warning Lyndsey had of Sister Tanner’s ambush as she left the tavern that evening was the faint scent of incense before the other woman hooked her arm around Lyndsey’s elbow, gently forcing her along the path toward the Chantry. Oddly enough, Lyndsey was reminded of when Keira Knightley’s character in _Pride and Prejudice_ had been forced for “a turn about the room” by Mr. Bingley’s jealous sister. Normally she was comfortable around Tanner, who seemed close to Lyndsey’s own age, albeit she was always a bit embarrassed about her lack of literacy. Maybe she was just imagining it, but something seemed off this time.

“I didn’t know who it was,” Lyndsey said, moving her elbow a bit to gentle Tanner’s grip. _I’ll never get over how **touchy** people are here. _ “By the time I thought to ask, he’d left.”

Sister Tanner shook her head. “You don’t ask your patients’ names?”

“I don’t need to know their name to treat them,” she grumbled, not wanting to admit that Sister Tanner was right, she should have asked. _Should probably be keeping some sort of record on my patients, too. Scientific method and all that._

The clean scent of woodsmoke filled the air as they approached the bonfire where the lay sister spent most of her time. The area was deserted. Once she’d seen someone in one of the tents she had been told had been set up for refugees like herself, but they all looked empty now. Sister Tanner sat them on a log facing the flames but did not let go of Lyndsey’s arm.

“So what did he want?”

“What does anyone want when they see a healer? I’m supposed to make house calls, apparently. Starting tomorrow.”

“Are you going to help him?”

She didn’t answer at first, only now realizing that the man who had barged in so rudely that day to demand her help was the same one - Tevinter - that May had mentioned had kicked almost everyone out of town. The one that angry mage had said they “were with”?

“I don’t think I have a choice.” He had been quite stringent in his instructions, and there had been an uncomfortable feeling in the air that suggested she would not want to know the consequences of disobedience. Besides, shouldn’t Sister Tanner be encouraging her to help him? That’s what she would have expected from clergy...

“Are you worried? I could go with you,” Sister Tanner offered. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

And oh man, if that didn’t remind her of home, where a girl would check in if her friend hadn’t texted back by a certain time on a first date, would know exactly where her friend would be and at what time, just in case things went sour. It had been one thing to follow Clemence to his lab; that was still in the village, in plain sight. Redcliffe Castle - she could see it in the distance now as the sun began to set - was isolated. And she didn’t exactly have a cell phone to call for help.

But what if things went wrong? If one person knew she couldn’t heal, that might be one thing. The man was definitely not one to cozy up with the locals, so word might not spread. But if Sister Tanner found out… well, everyone seemed to interact with the Chantry at some point. Everyone would know she was a sham.

She realized she was too caught up in her own head when the crackle of burning wood and chirps of crickets were interrupted by her companion.

“Well? Lyndsey?”

“...Would you mind going with me?”

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

“Let me guess, I have an excess of black bile,” said the young man across from her.

He was in an outfit much like his father’s, though the mustard and red parts had swapped places. The tapestries in the throne room even matched the dragon or serpent pattern on their clothes. _Weird_ was an understatement.

They were seated in a plain, musty-smelling workroom not far from the throne room where she had entered. The workroom was similar to the one Clemence used, though finer here in the castle than in the tavern’s attached shed. Sister Tanner, who had accompanied her after that morning’s Chantry services, had been forced to wait at the gate of the imposing fortress with only a whispered “be careful” as a farewell, masked white-robed guards had escorted her to the castle doors and instructed the steward to bring her to see one “Magister Alexius.”

The man’s tone when he’d said “Tranquil” yesterday had suddenly made sense, recalling what Clemence had told her. She just hadn’t put two and two together last night. “Tevinter” was apparently not his name after all. A nickname, perhaps?

“Ah, the healer! Good, good.” The magister had been pleased to see her, though she couldn’t help but feel she had walked into some sort of trap, the fly to his spider. Even with backup outside. He had introduced her to his son, Felix, who clearly didn’t look well. The young man was gaunt, his skin had a sickly pallor, and the bags under his eyes made them seem sunken.

It wasn’t long before his father had ushered them into the workroom he mandated that she use going forward, explaining that it was stocked with all the ingredients and equipment she would need, and left to see to some sort of urgent business.

Lyndsey had hesitated to sit down at the sturdy wooden table in the center of the room, suddenly realizing she was in close quarters with someone who looked like they had something far worse than a cold, and while she’d been caught up on all her vaccines back home that decidedly did not mean she was prepared for whatever strange viruses they might have here. She had wiped her clammy hands on the skirt of her dress as surreptitiously as she could.

“Don’t worry. It isn’t contagious,” he’d offered with a self-deprecating smile, and she tentatively approached to sit across from him.

Which segued into the discussion of his symptoms, the first of which was black bile.

“Humorism?” Lyndsey’s eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “You have magic and you believe in _humorism?_ Can’t you just… magic yourself better? Why do you need _me_ here?”

Felix let out a long sigh, seeming to deflate in his chair as he did so.

“I don’t have some mystery illness. It’s Blight sickness.” He stared her down dully, as if expecting her to flinch away from him, but all Lyndsey did in response was blink. “There is no cure, magical or not. Father refuses to talk about it, but at this point it’s only a matter of managing my symptoms.”

“So it’s some sort of...wasting disease?” _Like… no. No. Don’t think about it._

Felix nodded.

A familiar lump grew in her throat, and of their own accord her lips clamped together to keep from quivering. She should say she was sorry. She should perhaps ask what the diagnosis was, how long he had left. But the words wouldn’t come.

_It’s not the same. It’s not._

“I’m not going to die tomorrow,” Felix finally said, the side of his mouth quirking upward.

That prodded her into action. “Point taken,” Lyndsey replied, a flash of anger running through her mind when her voice came out as watery as her eyes felt. _Don’t you dare fucking cry right now._ “Well then!” She sat back against the back of her chair, slapping her palms lightly against her thighs in punctuation. “I’m here.” She allowed herself one sniffle. People did that from time to time; it had nothing to do with her emotional state. “What can I do to ease your symptoms?”

As Felix began listing the cocktail of medicines he took, how they corresponded to each of his symptoms, and which he was running low on, Lyndsey interrupted him to rummage through one of the desks for something to take notes with. A few of the drawers contained oddly shaped daggers or knives, she noted, leaving them where they were. For a workroom that didn’t seem to see much use, given the slightly dusty (albeit well-stocked) shelves, they sure were worried about not having enough utensils to chop up herbs.

Finally she found paper and charcoal. Originally she was going to ignore the quill and ink she discovered next to it - she was already going to have a difficult time writing, let alone having to worry about an unfamiliar instrument - before she remembered the forms she had to fill in on her own before every check-up. She brought it all to Felix and had him transcribe what he was saying to that it wouldn’t be forgotten.

When the list was complete, Lyndsey shook the paper to help the ink dry, placed another piece of paper on top so the writing wouldn’t smear, folded them up, and tucked the bundle into the space between her shirt and the bodice of her dress so it wouldn’t get lost.

“Alright. Since you’re not running out of anything yet, I can come back in a few days to make more,” Lyndsey offered. In reality she was going to have to study like mad to learn how to make most of what he’d rattled off, but Felix didn’t need to know that. And she had a sickness to look up, if she could find a source that was clinical enough.

_Too bad I can’t just Google it._

“Unless there’s something else you need in the meantime?”

“That will be all. Return in two days’ time. I’ll tell Father to expect you.”

The steward was waiting for them outside. A bell began to toll, marking the top of the hour, and Felix hurried off in the opposite direction while the steward returned her to the gates.

As promised, Sister Tanner was waiting for her. The other woman stood from where she’d been sitting near the bridge looking out over the lake in the direction of where they’d spoken the night before. She brushed the dust from her habit and ushered her away before Lyndsey could thank them for politeness’ sake.

When they were out of earshot, Lyndsey was peppered with questions. Some she was able to answer - yes, she was alright; no, nothing bad happened; she hadn’t seen much of the Magister because she’d gotten straight to business - while for others she’d had to simply refer to her “healer’s code”.

Soon enough they were crossing the bridge into the village. Buzzing townsfolk turned back to their tasks and conversations as if they hadn’t just been watching for her return with anticipation. Lyndsey thanked Sister Tanner once again for accompanying her before saying her farewells where the path to the Chantry branched away from that to the tavern. She had questions to find answers for, and an apothecary to seek out - but first, lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Lyndsey is referring to HIPAA, the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act.
> 
>  
> 
> Hello, it's been awhile! Life's been busy - lots of good changes - but I'm slowly working on this fic. Hard to believe 7 months have passed since I posted Chapter 1!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me thus far! I really appreciate your comments.


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